BY  G.  A.  BIRMINGHAM 


MINNIE'S  BISHOP  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

GENERAL  JOHN  REGAN 

THE  LOST  TRIBES 

SPANISH  GOLD 

LALAGE'S  LOVERS 

THE  SEARCH  PARTY 

THE  SIMPKINS  PLOT 

THE  MAJOR'S  NIECE 

PRISCILLA'S  SPIES 

THE  RED  HAND  OF  ULSTER 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  DR.  WHITTY 

THE  SEETHING  POT 

THE  BAD  TIMES 

HYACINTH 

FROM  DUBLIN  TO  CHICAGO 

GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


GOSSAMER 


BY 


G.  A.  BIRMINGHAM 

AUTHOR  OF  "GENERAL  JOHN  REGAN,"  "SPANISH  GOLD," 

"THE  LOST  TRIBES,"  "THE  SEARCH  PARTY," 

ETC.,  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1915, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


GOSSAMER 


2065707 


GOSSAMER 


CHAPTER  I. 

FOR  that  mercy,"  said  Gorman,  "you  may  thank 
with  brief  thanksgiving  whatever  gods  there  be." 
We  were  discussing,  for  perhaps  the  twentieth  time, 
the  case  of  poor  Ascher.  Gorman  had  reminded  me, 
as  he  often  does,  that  I  am  incapable  of  understand- 
ing Ascher  or  entering  into  his  feelings,  because  I  am 
a  man  of  no  country  and  therefore  know  nothing  of 
the  emotion  of  patriotism.  This  seems  a  curious  thing 
to  say  to  a  man  who  has  just  had  his  leg  mangled 
in  a  battle;  but  I  think  Gorman  is  quite  right  about 
his  fact.  I  went  out  to  the  fight,  when  the  fight  came 
on,  but  only  because  I  could  not  avoid  going.  I  never 
supposed  that  I  was  fighting  for  my  country.  But 
Gorman  is  wrong  in  his  inference.  I  have  no  country, 
but  I  believe  I  can  understand  Ascher  quite  as  well 
as  Gorman  does.  Nor  am  I  sure  that  I  ought  to  be 
thankful  for  my  immunity  from  the  fever  of  patriot- 
ism. Ascher  suffered  severely  because  at  a  critical 
moment  in  his  life  a  feeling  of  loyalty  to  his  native 
land  gripped  him  hard.  I  have  also  suffered,  a  rend- 
ing of  the  body  at  least  comparable  to  Ascher's  rend- 
ing of  the  soul.  But  I  have  not  the  consolation  of 
feeling  that  I  am  a  hero. 

7 


8  GOSSAMER 

I  have  often  told  Gorman  that  if  he  were  as  thor- 
ough-going as  he  pretends  to  be  he  would  call  himself 
O'Gorabhain  or  at  the  very  least,  O'Gorman.  He  is 
an  Irishman  by  birth,  sympathy  and  conviction.  He 
is  a  Member  of  Parliament,  pledged  to  support  the 
cause  of  Ireland,  and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
he  has  brains.  He  might  have  been  a  brilliant,  per- 
haps even  a  successful  and  popular  novelist.  He  wrote 
two  stories  which  critics  acclaimed,  which  are  still 
remembered  and  even  occasionally  read.  He  might 
have  risen  to  affluence  as  a  dramatist.  He  was  the 
author  of  one  single-act  play  which  made  the  fortune 
of  a  very  charming  actress  ten  years  ago.  He  has 
made  a  name  for  himself  as  a  journalist,  and  his  arti- 
cles are  the  chief  glory  of  a  leading  weekly  paper. 
But  the  business  to  which  he  has  really  devoted  him- 
self is  that  of  an  Irish  patriot.  He  says  amazingly 
foolish  things  in  public  and,  in  private,  is  always  quite 
ready  to  laugh  at  his  own  speeches.  He  is  a  genuine 
lover  of  Ireland,  an  inheritor  of  that  curious  tradi- 
tion of  Irish  patriotism  which  has  survived  centuries 
of  disappointed  hopes,  and,  a  much  stranger  thing, 
has  never  been  quite  asphyxiated  by  its  own  gases. 

I  happen  to  belong  to  that  unfortunate  class  of 
Irishmen  whom  neither  Gorman  nor  any  one  else  will 
recognise  as  being  Irish  at  all.  I  owned,  at  one  time, 
a  small  estate  in  Co.  Cork.  I  sold  it  to  my  tenants 
and  became  a  man  of  moderate  income,  incumbered 
with  a  baronetcy  of  respectable  antiquity  and  occu- 
pied chiefly  in  finding  profitable  investments  for  my 
capital.  By  way  of  recreation  I  interest  myself  in  my 


GOSSAMER  9 

neighbours  and  acquaintances,  in  the  actual  men  and 
women  rather  than  in  their  affairs.  No  definition  of 
the  Irish  people  has  yet  been  framed  which  would 
include  me,  though  I  am  indubitably  a  person — I  take 
"person"  to  be  the  singular  of  people  which  is  a  noun 
of  multitude — and  come  of  a  family  which  held  on  to 
an  Irish  property  for  300  years.  My  religion  con- 
sists chiefly  of  a  dislike  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church 
and  an  instinctive  distrust  of  the  priests  of  all 
churches.  My  father  was  an  active  Unionist,  and  I 
have  no  political  opinions  of  any  sort.  I  am  there- 
fore cut  off,  both  by  religion  and  politics,  from  any 
chance  of  taking  part  in  Irish  affairs.  On  the  other 
hand  I  cannot  manage  to  feel  myself  an  English- 
man. Even  now,  though  I  have  fought  in  their  army 
without  incurring  the  reproach  of  cowardice,  I  cannot 
get  out  of  the  habit  of  looking  at  Englishmen  from  a 
distance.  This  convinces  me  that  I  am  not  one  of 
them. 

I  am  thus — Gorman  is  quite  right  about  this — a 
man  of  no  country.  But  I  understand  Ascher  as  well 
as  Gorman  does;  though  I  take  a  different  view  of 
Ascher's  ultimate  decision. 

I  met  Gorman  first  on  board  a  Cunard  steamer  in 
the  autumn  of  1913. 

I  was  on  my  way  to  Canada.  My  excuse,  the  rea- 
son I  gave  to  myself  for  the  journey,  was  the  neces- 
sity of  looking  into  the  affairs  of  certain  Canadian 
companies  in  which  I  had  invested  money.  There 
were  rumours  current  in  England  at  that  time  which 
led  me  to  suspect  that  the  boom  in  Canadian  securi- 


io  GOSSAMER 

ties  had  reached  its  height  and  was  about  to  subside. 
I  did  not  really  believe  that  I  was  likely  to  find  out 
anything  of  value  by  stopping  in  an  hotel  at  Mon- 
treal or  travelling  in  a  train  to  Vancouver.  But  I 
was  tired  of  London  and  thought  the  trip  might  be 
pleasant.  I  went  to  Canada  by  way  of  New  York, 
partly  because  the  big  Cunarders  are  comfortable 
steamers,  partly  because  I  find  New  York  an  agree- 
able city.  I  have  several  friends  there  and  I  like 
the  life  of  the  place — for  a  fortnight  at  a  time.  I 
do  not  know  whether  I  should  like  it  for  a  longer 
time  because  I  have  never  had  money  enough  to  live 
in  New  York  for  more  than  a  fortnight.  As  a  regular 
place  of  residence  it  might  be  too  stimulating  for  me ; 
but  I  shall  probably  never  know  how  I  should  feel 
about  it  at  the  end  of  six  weeks. 

It  was  Gorman  who  took  the  initiative  on  board 
the  steamer.  I  do  not  think  that  I  should  ever  have 
made  his  acquaintance  if  he  had  not  forced  himself 
on  me.  He  accosted  me,  introduced  himself,  carried 
the  acquaintance  through  to  an  intimacy  by  sheer 
force  of  personality,  and  ended  by  inducing  me  to 
like  him.  He  began  his  attack  on  me  during  that  very 
uncomfortable  time  just  before  the  ship  actually  starts. 
It  is  never  possible  to  settle  down  to  the  ordinary 
routine  of  life  at  sea  until  the  screw  begins  to  revolve. 
There  is  an  hour  or  two,  after  the  passengers  have 
embarked,  which  is  disquieting  and  fussy.  Mail  bags, 
so  I  understand,  are  being  put  on  board.  Stewards, 
carrying  cabin  trunks,  swarm  in  the  corridors.  Pas- 
sengers wander  restlessly  about  or  hurry,  with  futile 


GOSSAMER  ii 

energy,  from  place  to  place.  Pushing  men  hustle  each 
other  at  the  windows  of  the  purser's  office,  under 
pretence  of  expecting  letters  or  despatching  telegrams. 
Women  passengers  eye  other  women  passengers  with 
suspicion  and  distrust.  It  is  very  interesting  to  no- 
tice how  people  who  scowl  at  each  other  on  the  first 
day  of  a  voyage  exchange  cards  and  promise  to  pay 
each  other  visits  after  six  days  as  fellow  travellers. 
At  the  end  of  another  six  days — such  is  the  usual 
unfortunate  experience — the  cards  are  lost  and  the 
promises  forgotten.  A  poet  and,  following  him,  a 
novelist  have  compared  human  intercourse  to  the 
"speaking"  of  ships  that  pass  in  the  night.  They 
would  have  found  a  more  forcible,  though  perhaps 
less  poetic,  illustration  of  their  idea  in  the  friendships 
formed  by  passengers  in  the  same  steamer.  They  are 
intimate,  but  they  are  as  a  rule  utterly  transitory. 
However  I  have  no  right  to  complain.  The  friend- 
ship which  Gorman  forced  on  me  has  lasted  eighteen 
months  and  shows  no  sign  yet  of  wearing  thin. 

He  caught  me  in  the  smoking  room.  I  had  settled 
down  quietly  in  a  comfortable  chair,  and  was  won- 
dering, as  I  always  do  in  that  smoking  room,  at  the 
grain  of  the  wood  in  the  panel  above  the  fireplace. 
There  was  no  one  else  in  the  room  except  a  steward 
who  hovered  near  the  door  which  leads  to  the  bar. 
Experience  has  taught  me  that  the  smoking  room, 
the  most  populous  part  of  the  ship  during  the  voyage, 
is  generally  empty  during  the  two  hours  before  the 
start.  I  thought  I  should  have  the  place  to  myself. 
I  was  half  way  through  my  cigar  and  had  failed  to 


12  GOSSAMER 

decide  whether  the  panel  is  a  fake  or  a  natural  curi- 
osity when  Gorman  entered.  He  is  a  big  man  and 
fat.  He  is  clean  shaved  and  has  bushy  grey  eye- 
brows. Heavy  rolls  of  skin  hang  down  from  his 
jaws.  He  wears  an  unusually  large  gold  signet  ring. 
His  appearance  is  not  attractive.  He  sat  down  beside 
me  and  addressed  me  at  once. 

"Sir  James  Digby?"  he  said. 

That  is  my  name.     I  admitted  it  by  nodding. 

"I  was  glancing  over  the  passenger  list,"  he  said, 
"and  saw  you  were  on  board.  The  purser  told  me 
you  were  up  here  somewhere.  My  name's  Gorman, 
Michael  Gorman." 

The  name  gave  me  no  information  beyond  the  fact 
that  the  speaker  was  an  Irishman.  There  must  be 
several  thousand  Germans  in  Ireland  and  I  could  not 
remember  that  I  was  acquainted  with  any  one  of  them. 
I  nodded  again. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  remember  me,"  said  Gorman, 
"but  you  used  to  see  me  pretty  frequently  once,  about 
twenty-five  years  ago.  My  father  kept  the  only  shop 
in  Curraghbeg,  and  you  used  to  come  in  and  buy 
sweets,  a  penny  worth  at  a  time.  You  were  a  small 
boy  then.  I  was  a  bit  older,  fifteen  or  sixteen  per- 
haps." 

Curraghbeg  is  a  miserable  village  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  tract  of  land  which  used  to  be  my 
property.  It  is  close  to  Curraghbeg  House,  where 
my  father  kept  up  such  state  as  befitted  an  Irish  gen- 
tleman of  his  day.  I  believe  I  was  born  there.  If  I 
thought  of  any  place  in  the  world  as  home  I  suppose 


GOSSAMER  13 

it  would  be  Curraghbeg;  but  I  have  no  feeling  for 
the  place  except  a  mild  dislike.  The  House  is  now  a 
nunnery,  in  better  repair,  but  almost  certainly  more 
gauntly  hideous  than  when  I  owned  it.  The  village,  I 
expect,  is  still  as  sordid  as  when  I  saw  it  last.  I 
remembered  Gorman's  shop,  a  dirty  little  public  house, 
where  sacks  of  flour,  tea  and  sugar  candy  were  sold, 
as  well  as  whisky  and  emigration  tickets.  I  also 
remembered  my  father's  opinion  of  Gorman,  old  Dan 
Gorman,  the  father  of  the  man  beside  me.  He  was 
"one  of  the  worst  blackguards  in  the  county,  mixed 
up  with  every  kind  of  League  and  devilment."  Those 
were  the  days  when  the  land  agitation  was  at  its  height 
and  Irish  gentlemen — they  were  fighting  for  their 
existence  as  a  class — felt  rather  strongly  about  the 
leaders  of  the  people. 

Of  any  younger  Gorman  I  had  no  recollection  what- 
ever. Nor  did  I  at  that  moment,  or  for  some  time 
afterwards,  connect  the  son  of  the  ruffianly  old  pub- 
lican with  the  journalist  and  politician  of  whom  I  had 
heard  a  good  deal. 

"Funny  thing,"  he  said,  "running  into  you  like  this. 
Let's  have  a  drink  of  some  sort." 

He  snapped  his  fingers  to  attract  the  attention  of 
the  steward. 

I  am  not,  I  fear,  thoroughly  modernised.  Though 
I  like  American  social  life  I  have  never  been  able 
to  accept  the  theory  of  the  wickedness  of  class  dis- 
tinctions. As  a  political  system  democracy  seems  to 
me  extraordinarily  foolish,  but  I  would  not  go  out 
of  my  way  to  protest  against  it.  My  servant  is,  so 


14  GOSSAMER 

far  as  I  am  concerned,  welcome  to  as  many  votes 
as  he  can  get.  I  would  very  gladly  make  mine  over 
to  him  if  I  could.  I  do  not  suppose  that  it  matters 
much  in  reality  whether  laws  are  made  by  dukes  or 
cornerboys,  but  I  like,  as  far  as  possible,  to  associate 
with  gentlemen  in  private  life.  I  was  not  prepared 
to  sit  drinking  with  the  son  of  old  Dan  Gorman  if  I 
could  help  it. 

I  intended  to  say  so,  as  politely  as  such  a  thing 
can  be  said.  The  man's  face  made  me  pause.  He  was 
looking  at  me  with  a  curious  smile,  half  innocent,  half 
whimsical.  His  eyes  expressed  friendliness  of  a  per- 
fectly simple,  unaffected  kind.  I  realised  that  he  was 
not  a  snob,  that  he  was  not  trying  to  push  himself 
on  me  for  the  sake  of  my  position  and  title,  the 
position  of  a  disinherited  Irish  landlord  and  a  title 
which,  for  all  any  one  could  tell  by  hearing  it,  might 
be  the  reward  of  a  successful  provincial  doctor.  I 
realised  also,  with  an  uncomfortable  shiver,  that  he 
understood  my  feeling  and  was  slightly  amused  at  it. 
It  struck  me  suddenly  that  I,  and  not  Gorman,  was 
the  snob. 

The  steward  stood  at  his  elbow. 

"Whisky  and  soda?"  said  Gorman.  "We  are  still 
in  English  waters.  Or  shall  I  say  cocktails,  as  we're 
on  our  way  to  America?" 

I  am  a  temperate  man  and  have  made  it  a  rule 
not  to  drink  before  luncheon.  But  I  was  so  much 
ashamed  of  my  first  feeling  about  Gorman  that  I 
thought  it  well  to  break  my  rule.  I  should,  under 
the  circumstances,  have  considered  myself  justified  in 


GOSSAMER  15 

breaking  a  temperance  pledge,  on  the  principle,  once 
explained  to  me  by  an  archdeacon,  that  charity  is 
above  rubrics.  I  gave  my  vote  for  whisky  and  soda 
as  the  more  thorough-going  drink  of  the  two.  A 
cocktail  is  seldom  more  than  a  mouthful.  Gorman 
gave  the  order. 

"Don't  you  think,"  he  said,  "that  it  would  be  rather 
a  good  plan  for  us  to  sit  together  at  meals  ?  I'll  make 
arrangements  with  the  steward  and  have  a  table  re- 
served for  us  in  the  upper  saloon.  I  can  manage  it 
all  right.  I  often  cross  on  this  boat  and  everybody 
knows  me." 

Again  he  looked  at  me  and  again  smiled  in  his 
fascinating  childlike  way. 

"I'm  A- 1  at  ordering  meals,"  he  said,  "and  it  really 
does  make  a  difference  on  these  ships  if  you  know 
how  to  get  the  best  that's  going." 

That  was  the  one  attempt  he  made  to  justify  him- 
self in  forcing  his  company  on  me.  But  it  was  not 
the  hope  of  better  dinners,  though  I  like  good  dinners, 
which  led  me  to  agree  to  his  proposal.  I  was  cap- 
tivated by  his  smile.  Besides,  I  had  not,  so  far  as  I 
knew,  a  single  acquaintance  among  the  passengers.  I 
should  be  better  off  with  Gorman  as  messmate  than 
set  down  beside  some  chance  stranger  who  might  smile 
in  a  disagreeable  way,  or  perhaps  not  smile  at  all. 

"Very  well,"  I  said.     "You  arrange  it." 

"It  would  be  pleasant,"  he  said,  "if  we  could  get 
hold  of  a  couple  of  other  interesting  people,  and  make 
four  at  our  table." 

I  do  not  deny  that  Gorman  is  an  interesting  person, 


16  GOSSAMER 

but  I  did  not  see  what  right  he  had  to  put  me  in  that 
select  class.  I  could  only  hope  that  the  other  interest- 
ing people  would  regard  me  as  he  did.  He  pulled  a 
passenger  list  out  of  his  pocket  and  turned  over  the 
pages. 

"What  about  the  Aschers  ?"  he  said. 

He  handed  the  list  to  me.  There  was  a  pencil  mark 
opposite  the  name  of  Mr.  Carl  Ascher.  Immediately 
below  it  was  "Mrs.  Ascher  and  maid." 

"I  don't  know  him,"  I  said.  "Who  is  he?  Has  he 
done  anything  particular?" 

"Heavens  above!"  said  Gorman.  "Who  is  Ascher! 
But  perhaps  you  don't  recognise  him  apart  from  the 
rest  of  the  firm.  Ever  heard  of  Ascher,  Stutz  &  Co.  ?" 

I  recognised  the  name  then.  Ascher  is  a  banker, 
one  of  those  international  financiers  who  manage, 
chiefly  from  London  offices,  a  complicated  kind  of 
business  which  no  ordinary  man  understands  any- 
thing about,  a  kind  of  foreign  business  which  for 
some  reason  very  few  Englishmen  undertake. 

"If  the  man's  a  millionaire,"  I  said,  "he  won't  care 
to  dine  with  us — and  he's  probably  a  Jew — not  that 
I've  any  particular  prejudice  against  Jews." 

"He's  not  a  Jew,"  said  Gorman.  "He's  an  English- 
man. At  least  he's  as  English  as  any  man  with  a  name 
like  that  can  be.  I  expect  he'll  jump  at  the  chance 
of  feeding  with  us.  We're  the  only  people  on  board 
the  least  likely  to  interest  him." 

I  admire  Gorman's  splendid  self-confidence,  but  I 
do  not  share  it.  I  shrank  from  seeking  the  friendship 
of  a  millionaire. 


GOSSAMER  17 

"He  has  his  wife  with  him,"  I  said.  "Perhaps 
she " 

I  meant  to  suggest  that  Mrs.  Ascher  might  not  care 
to  be  thrown  with  a  couple  of  stray  men  of  whom  she 
knew  nothing.  Gorman  thought  I  meant  something 
quite  different. 

"She's  an  American,"  he  said,  "or  was  before  she 
married  Ascher.  I  hear  she  goes  in  for  music  and 
pictures  and  literature  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  which 
may  be  boring.  But  I  daresay  we  shan't  see  very 
much  of  her.  She'll  probably  be  seasick  the  whole 
time." 

I  have  often  wondered  where  Gorman  gets  all  his 
astonishingly  accurate  information  about  people  whom 
he  does  not  know.  He  was  very  nearly  right  about 
Mrs.  Ascher.  She  was  seasick  for  four  out  of  the 
six  days  of  our  voyage. 

"Anyhow,"  he  went  on,  "we  must  put  up  with  her 
if  we  want  to  get  hold  of  the  husband.  And  I  should 
like  to  do  that.  I've  never  had  a  chance  before  of 
being  intimate  with  one  of  the  big  bugs  of  finance. 
I  want  to  know  what  it  is  that  those  fellows  really  do." 

When  Gorman  put  it  to  me  that  way  I  withdrew  all 
my  objections  to  his  plan.  I  very  much  want  to  know 
"what  those  fellows  really  do."  I  am  filled  with  curi- 
osity and  I  want  to  know  what  every  kind  of  fellow 
really  does.  I  want  to  have  a  long  talk  with  a  Parisian 
dressmaker,  one  of  the  men  who  settles  what  shape 
women  are  to  be  for  the  next  six  months.  I  want 
to  get  at  the  mind  of  a  railway  manager.  I  want  to 
know  how  a  detective  goes  about  the  job  of  catching 


i8  GOSSAMER 

criminals.  Of  course  I  want  to  understand  inter- 
national banking. 

"Besides,"  said  Gorman,  "a  millionaire  is  a  very 
useful  kind  of  man  to  know." 

Millionaires  are  useful  acquaintances  because  there 
is  always  a  chance  of  getting  money  from  them. 

"Don't  count  on  me  as  a  bridge  player,"  I  said. 
"I'm  no  good  at  the  game  and  never  play  for  high 
points.  You  wouldn't  win  anything  worth  while  with 
me  as  one  of  the  party." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  bridge,"  said  Gorman. 

He  was  not.  He  was  thinking,  I  fancy,  of  his 
brother.  But  we  did  not  get  to  Gorman's  brother  for 
more  than  a  week. 

Having  got  my  consent,  Gorman  went  off  to  "set" 
Ascher.  I  use  the  word  "set"  deliberately,  for  Gor- 
man, when  bent  on  getting  anything  done,  reminds  me 
of  a  well-trained  sporting  dog.  He  ranges,  quarters 
the  ground  in  front  of  him  and  finally — well,  he  set 
me  as  if  I  had  been  a  grouse.  He  set  Ascher,  I  have 
no  doubt,  in  the  same  way. 

I  did  not  think  it  likely  that  he  would  secure  the 
Aschers.  Millionaires  are  usually  shy  birds,  well  ac- 
customed to  being  pursued  by  all  sorts  of  ordinary 
men.  They  develop,  I  suppose,  a  special  cunning  in 
avoiding  capture,  a  cunning  which  the  rest  of  us  never 
achieve.  However  Ascher's  cunning  was  no  use  to 
him  in  this  case.  Gorman  is  an  exceedingly  clever 
dog. 

The  trumpet,  bugle,  cornet,  or  whatever  the  instru- 
ment is  which  announces  meals  at  sea,  was  blaring 


GOSSAMER  19 

out  its  luncheon  tune  when  Gorman  returned  to  me. 
He  was  in  high  triumph.  He  had  captured  the 
Aschers,  reserved  the  nicest  table  in  the  upper  saloon 
and  secured  the  exclusive  service  of  the  best  table 
steward  in  the  ship.  I  think  he  had  interviewed  the 
head  cook.  I  began  to  appreciate  Gorman's  qualities 
as  a  travelling  companion.  His  handling  of  the  serv- 
ants of  the  Cunard  Company  during  the  voyage  was 
masterly.  I  never  was  so  well  looked  after  before, 
though  I  always  make  it  a  practice  to  tip  generously. 

Gorman  proposed  that  we  should  have  another 
whisky  and  soda  before  going  down  to  luncheon.  He 
is  a  genial  soul.  No  churl  would  want  to  drink  two 
glasses  of  whisky  in  the  early  part  of  one  day.  When 
I  refused  he  looked  disappointed. 

On  the  way  down  to  luncheon  he  asked  the  lift  boy 
how  his  mother  had  got  over  her  operation.  It  would 
never  have  occurred  to  me  that  the  lift  boy  had  a 
mother.  If  I  had  thought  the  matter  out  carefully 
I  might  have  reached  the  conclusion  that  there  must 
be  or  at  one  time  have  been  a  mother  for  every  lift 
boy  in  the  world.  But  Gorman  did  not  reason.  He 
simply  knew,  and  knew  too  that  this  particular  lift 
boy's  mother  had  been  in  a  Liverpool  hospital,  a  fact 
which  no  method  of  reasoning  known  to  me  would 
have  enabled  him  to  arrive. 

The  lift  boy  loved  Gorman.  His  grins  of  delight 
showed  that.  Our  table  steward,  a  very  competent 
young  man,  adored  him.  The  head  cook — I  judged 
by  the  meals  we  had  sent  up  to  us — had  a  very  strong 
personal  affection  for  Gorman.  I  do  not  wonder.  I 


20  GOSSAMER 

am  myself  fond  of  Gorman  now.  So  is  Ascher.  Mrs. 
Ascher  goes  further  still.  She  respects  and  admires 
Gorman.  But  Mrs.  Ascher  is  a  peculiar  woman.  She 
respects  people  whom  the  rest  of  us  only  like. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WE  saw  very  little  of  Ascher  and  nothing  at  all 
of  his  wife  during  the  first  two  days  of  our 
voyage.  My  idea  was  that  they  stayed  in  their  cabins 
— they  had  engaged  a  whole  suite  of  rooms — in  order 
to  avoid  drifting  into  an  intimacy  with  Gorman  and 
me.  A  millionaire  would  naturally,  so  I  supposed,  be 
suspicious  of  the  advance  of  any  one  who  was  not  a 
fellow  millionaire.  I  was  mistaken.  Ascher  was  sim- 
ply seasick.  When  he  recovered,  two  days  before 
Mrs.  Ascher  raised  her  head  from  the  pillow,  he 
showed  every  sign  of  wanting  to  know  Gorman  and 
had  no  objection  to  dining  with  me. 

In  the  meanwhile  I  found  out  a  great  deal  about 
Gorman.  He  was  delightfully  unreserved,  not  only 
about  his  own  past,  but  about  his  opinions  of  people 
and  institutions.  Old  Dan  Gorman  had,  it  appeared, 
married  a  new  wife  when  he  was  about  sixty.  This 
lady  turned  Michael,  then  a  young  man,  out  of  the 
house.  He  bore  her  no  ill  will  whatever,  though  she 
deprived  him  in  the  end  of  his  inheritance  as  well  as 
his  home.  For  several  years  he  "messed  about" — the 
phrase  is  his — with  journalism,  acting  as  reporter  and 
leader  writer  for  several  Irish  provincial  papers,  a 
kind  of  work  which  requires  no  education  or  literary 
talent.  Then  he,  so  to  speak,  emerged,  becoming 

21 


22  GOSSAMER 

somehow,  novelist,  playwright,  politician.  I  have 
never  made  out  how  he  achieved  his  success.  I  do 
not  think  he  himself  knows  that.  According  to  his 
own  account — and  I  never  could  get  him  to  go  into 
details — "things  just  happened  to  come  along." 

He  was  entirely  frank  about  his  opinions.  He  re- 
garded landlords  as  the  curse  of  Ireland  and  said  so 
to  me.  He  did  not  seem  satisfied  that  they  are  innocu- 
ous, even  when,  being  deprived  of  their  estates,  they 
are  no  longer  landlords.  I  do  not  like  being  called  a 
curse — hardly  any  one  does — but  I  found  myself 
listening  to  the  things  which  Gorman  said  about  the 
class  to  which  I  belong  without  any  strong  resent- 
ment. His  treatment  of  us  reminded  me  of  Robbie 
Burns'  address  to  the  devil.  The  poet  recognised  that 
the  devil  was  a  bad  character  and  that  the  world  would 
be  in  every  way  a  brighter  and  happier  place  if  there 
were  no  such  person.  But  his  condemnation  was  of  a 
kindly  sort,  not  wholly  without  sympathy.  He  held 
out  a  hope  that  "ould  Nickie  Ben"  might  still  "hae 
some  stake" — stake  in  the  country  I  suppose — if  he 
would  take  thought  and  mend.  The  reformation 
would  have  to  be  a  drastic  one,  nothing  less  than  a 
complete  change  of  his  habits,  character  and  opinions. 
But  such  a  thing  was  not  wholly  impossible.  That 
was  very  much  what  Gorman  thought  about  me. 

Next  to  Irish  landlords  Gorman  disliked  financiers 
more  than  any  other  people  in  the  world.  He  did  not, 
by  his  own  confession,  know  anything  about  them; 
but  he  had  got  into  touch  wifh  a  group  of  journalists 
in  London  which  specialises  in  abuse  of  the  class. 


GOSSAMER  23 

Gorman  repeated  all  the  stock  arguments  to  me  and 
illuminated  the  subject  with  some  very  well  worn 
apologues. 

"A  financier,"  he  said,  "is  a  bloated  spider,  which 
sits  in  a  murky  den  spinning  webs  and  sucks  the  life- 
blood  of  its  victims." 

I  wondered  how  Ascher  would  like  this  kind  of 
talk  if  he  ever  joined  our  party. 

There  was  not,  of  course,  the  same  note  of  per- 
sonal bitterness  in  Gorman's  condemnation  of  finan- 
ciers which  I  noticed  in  his  attacks  on  landlords.  He 
had  learned  to  hate  my  class  during  the  impression- 
able years  of  childhood.  He  had  only  found  out  about 
financiers  when  he  was  a  grown  man.  And  no  one, 
not  even  a  convert  to  a  new  faith,  ever  believes  any- 
thing with  real  intensity  except  what  he  was  taught 
before  he  was  eight  years  old.  But  it  was  not  to  be 
expected  that  Ascher  would  be  as  patient  as  I  was, 
even  if  the  abuse  with  which  Gorman  assailed  his  class 
lacked  something  of  the  conviction  with  which  he 
attacked  me. 

I  asked  Gorman  one  evening  why,  holding  the  opin- 
ions he  did,  he  had  chosen  as  his  table  mates  a  banker 
and  an  unrepentant  landlord.  He  had  a  whole  ship- 
load of  passengers  to  choose  from,  most  of  them, 
no  doubt  believers  in  democracy,  some  of  them  per- 
haps even  socialists,  the  kind  of  socialists  who  travel 
first  class  on  crack  Cunard  steamers.  He  seemed  sur- 
prised at  the  question  and  did  not  answer  me  at  once. 
An  hour  or  so  after  we  had  passed  away  from  the 
subject  he  returned  to  it  suddenly  and  explained  that 


24  GOSSAMER 

it  was  necessary  to  distinguish  between  individuals  and 
the  classes  to  which  they  belong.  A  class,  so  I  under- 
stood, may  be  objectionable  and  dangerous  in  every 
way  though  the  men  who  form  it  are  delightful. 

"Take  the  Irish  priests,  for  instance,"  he  said.  "The 
minute  we  get  Home  Rule,  we'll " 

He  paused  significantly. 

"Deal  with  them?"  I  suggested. 

He  nodded  with  an  emphasis  which  was  positively 
vicious. 

"All  the  same,"  he  said,  "there  are  lots  of  priests 
whom  I  really  like,  capital  fellows  that  I'd  be  glad 
to  dine  with  every  day  in  the  week — except  Friday." 

Apparently  he  was  glad  to  dine  with  Ascher  and  me 
every  day  in  the  week,  including  Friday. 

"There's  no  sense,"  he  said,  "in  refusing  to  talk  to 
a  man  just  because  you  don't  like  his  opinions." 

I  agreed.  I  even  offered  proof  of  my  agreement. 
I  was  at  that  moment  talking  to  Gorman  and  I  cer- 
tainly did  not  like  his  opinions. 

When  Ascher  joined  us  at  dinner  on  the  third 
evening  of  our  voyage,  he  turned  out  to  be  a  very 
quiet,  gentle  little  man  with  no  outward  sign  of  great 
wealth  about  him.  He  drank  nothing  but  Perrier 
Water  which  was  a  surprise  and,  I  fancy,  something 
of  a  disappointment  to  Gorman.  He  expected  Ascher 
to  order  champagne  and  was  quite  ready  to  take  his 
turn  in  paying  for  the  wine.  Ascher  smoked  half  a 
cigarette  after  dinner  and  another  half  cigarette  before 
he  went  to  bed.  Gorman  confided  to  me  that  million- 
aires and  half-crown  cigars  had  always  been  associated 


GOSSAMER  25 

in  his  mind  before  he  met  Ascher.  To  me  the  most 
surprising  thing  about  the  man  was  the  low  opinion 
he  had  of  himself  and  his  own  abilities.  He  was 
deferential  to  Gorman  and  even  seemed  to  think  what 
I  said  worth  listening  to.  He  knew  all  about  Gor- 
man's two  novels  and  his  play.  He  had  read  many 
of  Gorman's  newspaper  articles.  He  used  to  try  and 
make  Gorman  talk  about  literature  and  art.  Gorman, 
being  a  man  of  great  intelligence,  hates  talking  about 
literature,  and  suspects  that  any  one  who  accuses  him 
of  art  is  poking  fun  at  him.  Ascher  took  both  litera- 
ture and  art  quite  seriously.  He  evidently  thought 
that  men  who  write  books  belong  to  a  superior  class. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  Ascher  has  far  more  brains  than 
any  author  I  have  ever  met;  but  he  does  not  know 
this. 

Ascher  lay  down  without  protest  under  all  the  out- 
rageous things  which  Gorman  said  about  financiers. 
His  extreme  meekness  seemed  to  stimulate  Gorman. 

"No  qualities,"  said  Gorman,  "are  required  for 
success  as  a  financier  except  a  low  kind  of  cunning 
and  a  totally  unscrupulous  selfishness." 

Ascher  seemed  to  agree  with  him.  I  wanted  to  point 
out  that  considering  the  very  large  number  of  men 
who  are  cunning  and  the  general  prevalence  of  selfish- 
ness the  number  of  successful  financiers  is  surpris- 
ingly small.  But  Gorman  did  not  give  me  a  chance 
of  speaking. 

"Political  life  in  every  modern  state,"  said  Gorman, 
"is  poisoned,  poisoned  at  its  source  by  the  influence  of 
the  great  financial  houses.  Democracy  is  in  shackles. 


26  GOSSAMER 

Its  leaders  are  gagged.  Progress  is  stopped.  Politics 

are  barren "  He  delivered  this  oration  at  dinner 

one  night,  and  when  he  came  to  the  barrenness  of 
politics  he  knocked  over  Ascher's  bottle  of  Perrier 
Water  with  a  sweep  of  his  hand  "and  it  is  the  subtle 
influence  of  the  financiers,  the  money  kings,  what  the 
Americans  used  to  call  the  Gold  Bugs,  which  is  re- 
sponsible for  the  mischief." 

Ascher  assented  with  a  sort  of  wavering  smile. 

"The  proof  of  what  I  say,"  said  Gorman,  "is  to  be 
found  in  the  well-known  fact " 

I  interrupted  him  at  this  point.  He  had  cited  his 
well-known  fact  to  me  several  times.  The  son  of  a 
Liberal  Cabinet  Minister  married  the  daughter  of  a 
well-known  Conservative  who  had  been  a  Cabinet 
Minister.  It  may  be  my  stupidity  but  I  cannot  see 
how  that  union  proves  that  financiers  control  politics. 
I  am  not,  and  never  shall  be  either  a  money  king  or 
a  gold  bug,  but  in  mere  dread  of  hearing  Gorman  pro- 
duce his  well-known  fact  again  I  took  up  the  task  of 
defending  the  class  to  which  Ascher  belongs. 

"After  all,  Gorman,"  I  said,  "you  ought  to  be  a 
little  grateful.  You  know  perfectly  well  that  there 
wouldn't  be  any  politics  if  financiers  and  other  cap- 
italists did  not  pay  for  them." 

"That's  just  what  I  say,"  said  Gorman. 

"No,"  I  said.  "That's  not  what  you  say.  You 
say  that  financiers  poison  politics.  But  there's  the 
greatest  difference  between  paying  for  a  performance 
and  poisoning  the  performers.  Take  a  theatre  for 
instance " 


GOSSAMER  27 

"Talking  of  theatres,"  said  Gorman,  "there's  a  rat- 
tling good  circus  going  on  in  New  York  at  present. 
I'll  take  you  two  men  to  see  it  some  night." 

But  I  was  not  going  to  let  Gorman  ride  away  in 
this  manner  from  an  argument  in  which  he  was  being 
worsted. 

"Do  let  me  finish  what  I  am  saying,"  I  said.  "All 
your  Parliaments  and  legislative  assemblies  are  simply 
national  theatres  kept  up  for  the  amusement  of  the 
people.  Somebody  has  to  put  up  the  money  to  keep 
them  going.  The  ordinary  man  won't  do  it.  You 
can't  even  get  him  to  vote  without  hypnotising  him 
first  by  means  of  a  lot  of  speeches  and  newspaper 
articles  and  placards  which  stare  at  him  from  hoard- 
ings. Even  after  you've  hypnotised  him  you  have  to 
drag  him  to  your  polling  booth  in  motor  cars.  He 
wouldn't  go  if  you  didn't.  As  for  paying  for  your 
show,  you  know  perfectly  well  that  there'd  be  no 
money  for  the  running  of  it  if  it  weren't  for  a  few 
financiers  and  rich  men." 

One  of  Gorman's  most  delightful  characteristics  is 
that  he  bears  no  malice  when  an  argument  goes  against 
him. 

"Begad,  you're  right,"  he  said.  "Right  all  the  way 
along.  At  the  present  moment  I'm  on  my  way  to 
America  to  get  money  for  the  Party.  There's  a  man 
I  have  my  eye  on  out  in  Detroit,  a  fellow  with  millions, 
and  an  Irishman.  I  mean  to  get  a  good  subscription 
out  of  him.  That's  why  I'm  on  this  ship." 

"Curious,"  I  said.  "I'm  after  money  too.  I  have 
some  investments  in  Canadian  railway  shares — nothing 


28  GOSSAMER 

much,  just  a  few  thousands,  but  a  good  deal  to  me. 
I'm  a  little  uneasy " 

I  looked  at  Ascher.  A  man  in  his  position,  the  head 
of  one  of  the  great  financial  houses,  ought  to  be  able 
to  give  very  good  advice  about  my  shares.  A  word 
from  him  about  the  prospects  of  Canada  generally  and 
the  companies  in  which  I  am  interested  in  particular, 
would  be  very  valuable  to  me.  Gorman  was  also  look- 
ing inquiringly  at  Ascher.  I  daresay  a  tip  on  the  state 
of  the  stock  market  would  be  interesting  to  him.  I 
do  not  know  whether  party  funds  are  invested  or 
kept  on  deposit  receipt  on  a  bank ;  but  Gorman  is  likely 
to  have  a  few  pounds  of  his  own.  Ascher  misinter- 
preted our  glances.  He  thought  we  wanted  to  know 
why  he  was  going  to  America. 

"The  condition  of  Mexico  at  present,"  he  said,  "is 
causing  us  all  some  anxiety.  My  partner  in  New  York 
wants  to  have  a  consultation  with  me.  That's  what's 
bringing  me  over." 

"Ah !"  said  Gorman.  "I  rather  respect  those  Mex- 
icans. It's  pleasant  to  hear  of  wealthy  men  like  you 
being  hit  sometimes." 

"It's  not  exactly  that,"  said  Ascher.  "As  a  firm  we 
don't  lose  directly  whatever  happens  in  Mexico.  What 
we  have  to  consider  is  the  interest  of  our  customers, 
the  people,  some  of  them  quite  small  people,  who 
went  into  Mexican  railways  on  our  advice.  Banking 
houses  don't  put  their  money  into  investments.  That's 
not  our  business.  But  banking  is  a  very  dull  subject. 
Let's  talk  of  something  else." 

He  turned  to  me  as  he  spoke. 


GOSSAMER  29 

"You  were  speaking  just  now,"  he  said,  "about  the 
necessity  of  putting  up  money  for  the  support  of 
theatres.  If  we  are  to  have  any  real  dramatic  art  in 
England " 

Banking  is  a  fascinatingly  interesting  subject  com- 
pared to  art ;  but  Ascher  does  not  think  so,  and  Ascher 
had  taken  hold  of  the  conversation.  He  appealed  to 
Gorman  as  a  man  whose  services  to  literature  and 
drama  had  never  been  properly  recognised.  He  ap- 
pealed to  me  as  a  member  of  a  cultured  class.  Neither 
of  us  was  sympathetic  or  responsive.  Gorman  knows 
that  he  has  never  rendered  any  service  to  literature 
at  all,  that  he  wrote  novels  because  he  wanted  money 
in  the  days  before  a  grateful  country  paid  him  £400 
a  year  for  walking  round  the  lobbies  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  that  he  tumbled  into  his  play  by  accident 
and  made  money  out  of  it  because  a  very  charming 
lady  was  more  charming  than  usual  in  the  part  he 
wrote  for  her. 

Gorman — this  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  being  an 
Irishman— has  no  illusions  about  himself.  I  have 
none  about  my  class.  It  is  not  cultured  and  does  not 
want  to  be. 

When  Ascher  had  smoked  his  half  cigarette  we  left 
the  dining  saloon  and  went  to  our  special  corner  in  the 
lounge.  Ascher  talked  on  till  nearly  ten  o'clock  about 
art  and  drama  and  music  as  if  they  were  the  only 
things  of  any  interest  or  importance  in  the  world. 
Then  he  went  to  bed.  Gorman  and  I  agreed  that  art, 
drama,  and  music  are  of  very  little  importance  and 
less  interesting  than  anything  else.  Gorman's  weekly 


30  GOSSAMER 

articles,  quite  the  best  things  of  their  kind  then  being 
published,  are  all  about  art,  so  he  has  a  perfect  right 
to  express  his  opinion.  What  we  wanted  to  hear 
Ascher  talk  about  was  money. 

"I've  always  wanted  to  know  what  high  finance 
really  is,"  I  said.  "It  seems  a  pity  not  to  be  able  to 
find  out  now  we've  got  a  man  who  understands  it." 

"I'll  take  him  in  hand  to-morrow,"  said  Gorman. 
"There's  no  use  our  having  him  to  dine  with  us  and 
looking  after  him  all  the  way  cross  if  we  don't  get 
anything  out  of  him." 

Gorman's  words  were  cryptic.  I  wanted  to  get 
knowledge — the  sort  of  knowledge  which  would  sat- 
isfy my  curiosity — out  of  Ascher;  chiefly  knowledge 
though  I  would  not  have  refused  a  little  inside  in- 
formation about  Canadian  affairs.  Gorman  might  very 
well  want  something  more.  He  might  want  a  sub- 
scription to  the  funds  of  his  party.  I  hoped  he  would 
not  get  it ;  either  out  of  Ascher  or  out  of  the  man  at 
Detroit  of  whom  he  spoke.  I  am  not  a  member  of 
any  political  party  but  I  hate  that  to  which  Gorman 
belongs.  If  I  were  attached  to  a  party  and  if  Gor- 
man's friends  joined  it  in  a  body,  I  should  leave  it 
at  once.  My  opinion,  so  far  as  I  have  any  opinion, 
is  that  what  Ireland  wants  is  to  be  let  alone.  But 
if  the  Irish  Nationalist  Party  were  to  adopt  a  policy 
of  deliberately  doing  nothing  and  preventing  other 
people  from  doing  anything  I  should  not  support  it. 
I  should  then  search  about  for  something  revolu- 
tionary and  try  to  insist  on  carrying  it  out.  Nothing 
would  induce  me  to  be  on  the  same  side  as  Gorman 


GOSSAMER  31 

and  his  friends.  Such  is  the  nature  of  an  Irish  gen- 
tleman. 

I  lay  awake  for  a  long  time  that  night,  smoking 
cigarettes  in  my  berth  and  meditating  on  the  fact  that, 
of  the  three  of  us  I  was  the  one  who  was  going  to 
America  for  purely  selfish  purposes.  Gorman  was 
trying  to  get  money  for  his  party,  for  his  own  ulti- 
mate advantage  no  doubt,  but  in  the  first  instance  the 
money  was  not  for  himself  but  for  a  cause.  And  Gor- 
man is  a  politician,  a  member  of  a  notoriously  corrupt 
and  unscrupulous  professional  class.  Ascher  was  tak- 
ing a  long  journey  in  order  to  devise  some  means  of 
rescuing  his  clients'  property  from  the  clutches  of  a 
people  which  had  carried  the  principles  of  democracy 
rather  further  than  is  usual.  And  Ascher  is  a  finan- 
cier. No  one  expects  anything  but  enlightened  greed 
from  financiers.  I  belong  by  birth  and  education  to 
an  aristocracy,  a  class  which  is  supposed  to  justify 
its  existence  by  its  altruism.  There  was  no  doubt  a 
valuable  lesson  to  be  learned  from  these  considera- 
tions. I  fell  asleep  before  I  found  out  exactly  what 
it  was. 

Gorman  did  as  he  promised.  He  took  Ascher  in 
hand  next  day.  He  made  the  poor  man  walk  up  and 
down  the  deck  with  him.  There  is  nothing  on  ship- 
board more  detestable  than  that  tramp  along  the  deck. 
Only  the  strongest  minded  man  can  avoid  counting 
his  steps,  making  an  estimate  of  yards,  and  falling 
into  the  bondage  of  trying  to  walk  a  fixed  number  of 
miles.  Conversation  and  even  coherent  thought  be- 
come impossible  when  the  mind  is  set  on  the  effort  to 


32  GOSSAMER 

keep  count  of  the  turns  made  at  the  end  of  the  deck.  I 
am  sure  that  Ascher  did  not  enjoy  himself;  but  Gor- 
man kept  him  at  it  for  more  than  an  hour.  I  watched 
them  from  the  deck  chair  in  which  I  sat,  rolled  up 
very  comfortably  in  my  rug.  At  one  o'clock,  when 
we  ought  to  have  gone  down  to  lunch,  Gorman  stopped 
opposite  my  chair.  He  proclaimed  his  success  jubi- 
lantly. 

"We've  been  talking  about  finance,"  he  said,  "high 
finance.  Pity  you  wouldn't  join  us." 

Ascher  bowed  towards  me.  Gorman  described 
Ascher's  manners  as  foreign.  I  daresay  they  are. 
There  is  a  certain  flavour  of  formal  courtesy  about 
them  which  Englishmen  rarely  practise,  of  which 
Irishmen  of  my  generation,  partly  anglicised  by  their 
education,  have  lost  the  trick. 

"Sir  James  would  only  have  been  bored,"  said 
Ascher. 

"Not  he,"  said  Gorman,  "he's  just  as  keen  as  I  am 
to  know  what  bankers  do  with  money." 

"It's  a  dull  trade,"  said  Ascher,  "very  dull.  Some 
day  I  shall  give  it  up  and  devote  the  rest  of  my  time 

tn— — ." 

"Don't  say  art,"  said  Gorman. 

Ascher  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  Gorman  with 
a  mild  kind  of  wonder. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  "I  can  never  be  an  artist.  I 
haven't  got  the  temperament,  the  soul,  the  capacity 
for  abandon.  But  I  might  find  enjoyment,  the  highest 
pleasure,  in  understanding,  in  appreciating,  perhaps 
even  in  encouraging " 


GOSSAMER  33 

"Sort  of  Mecenas,"  said  Gorman.  "I  wonder  if 
Mecenas  was  a  banker.  He  seems  to  have  been  a 
rich  man." 

"He  was  a  descendant  of  kings,"  I  said,  "but  that's 
no  reason  why  he  shouldn't  have  made  money." 

"Anyhow,"  said  Gorman,  "you'd  find  art  just  as  dull 
as  banking  if  you  went  in  for  it  systematically." 

"But  artists !"  said  Ascher,  "genuine  artists! 

Men  with  inspiration!" 

"Selfish  conceited  swine,"  said  Gorman. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "you  ought  to  know.  You're  an 
artist  yourself.  Ascher  told  me  so  yesterday." 

"I  remember  your  two  novels,"  said  Ascher,  "and  I 
recognised  in  them  the  touch,  the  unmistakable 
touch." 

"Let's  go  down  to  lunch,"  said  Gorman. 

He  left  the  deck  as  he  spoke.  Even  Gorman  does 
not  like  to  stand  self -convicted  of  being  a  selfish  con- 
ceited swine.  Ascher  laid  his  hand  on  my  arm  as  we 
went  down  to  the  saloon. 

"What  a  brilliant  fellow  he  is,"  he  whispered.  "I 
never  realised  before  how  magnificently  paradoxical 
your  Irish  minds  are.  That  pose  of  abject  self  depre- 
ciation which  is  in  reality  not  wholly  a  pose  but  a 
vehement  protest  against  the  shallow  judgment  of  a 
conventionalised  culture " 

Ascher's  language  was  a  little  confusing  to  me,  but 
I  could  guess  at  what  he  meant.  Gorman  appeared 
to  him  to  be  an  unappreciated  Oscar  Wilde,  one  of 
those  geniuses — I  am  bound  to  admit  that  they  are 
mostly  Irish — who  delude  the  world  into  thinking  they 


34  GOSSAMER 

are  uttering  profound  truths  when  they  are  merely 
outraging  common  sense. 

It  would  be  going  too  far  perhaps  to  say  that  Ascher 
fawned  on  Gorman  during  luncheon.  He  certainly 
showed  his  admiration  for  him  very  plainly. 

During  the  afternoon  we  talked  finance  again. 
Ascher  did  it  because  he  wanted  to  please  Gorman. 
I  listened  and  learned  several  things  which  interested 
me  very  much.  I  got  to  understand,  for  instance, 
why  a  sovereign  is  sometimes  worth  more,  sometimes 
less,  when  you  try  to  exchange  it  for  dollars  or  francs ; 
a  thing  which  had  always  puzzled  me  before.  I 
learned  why  gold  has  to  be  shipped  in  large  quantities 
from  one  country  to  another  by  bankers,  whereas  I, 
a  private  individual,  need  only  send  a  cheque  to  pay 
my  modest  debts.  I  learned  what  is  meant  by  a  bill 
drawn  on  London.  It  took  me  nearly  half  an  hour  to 
grasp  that.  Gorman  pretended  to  see  it  sooner  than  I 
did,  but  when  he  tried  to  supplement  Ascher's  expla- 
nation with  one  of  his  own  he  floundered  hopelessly. 

It  was  while  we  were  at  tea  that  afternoon  that 
Mrs.  Ascher  put  in  an  appearance  for  the  first  time. 
She  was  a  tall,  lean  woman,  with  dark  red  hair — 
Gorman  called  it  bronze — and  narrow  eyes  which 
never  seemed  quite  open.  Her  face  was  nearly  colour- 
less. I  was  inclined  to  attribute  this  to  her  long  suf- 
fering from  seasickness,  but  when  I  got  to  know  her 
better  I  found  out  that  she  is  never  anything  but 
pallid,  even  when  she  has  lived  for  months  on  land 
and  has  been  able  to  eat  all  she  wants.  The  first 
thing  she  did  after  we  were  introduced  to  her  was 


GOSSAMER  35 

to  put  her  hands  up  to  her  ears  and  give  a  low  moan, 
expressive  of  great  anguish.  Ascher  explained  to  us 
that  she  was  very  musical  and  suffered  acutely  from 
the  ship's  band.  I  made  up  my  mind  definitely  that 
she  was  not  the  sort  of  woman  I  like.  Gorman,  on 
the  other  hand,  took  to  her  at  once.  He  could  not 
stop  the  band,  but  he  led  the  lady  away  to  a  distant 
corner  of  the  writing  room. 

For  the  rest  of  the  voyage  Gorman  devoted  himself 
to  her.  I  do  not  mean  to  suggest  that  he  flirted  with 
her  either  frivolously,  or  with  yearning  artistic  seri- 
ousness. Gorman  enjoys  the  society  of  women  and 
is  never  long  happy  without  it,  but  I  do  not  think  he 
cares  for  love-making  in  any  form.  Besides  he  spent 
most  of  his  time  in  her  company  watching  her  playing 
Patience.  Owen  Meredith  wrote  a  poem  in  which 
he  glorified  the  game  of  chess  as  an  aid  to  quiet  con- 
jugal love-making.  But  so  far  as  I  know  no  one  has 
suggested  that  Canfield — it  was  Mrs.  Ascher's  favour- 
ite kind  of  Patience — has  ever  been  used  as  an  excuse 
for  flirtation.  No  woman,  not  even  if  she  has  eyes 
of  Japanese  shape,  can  look  tenderly  at  a  man  when 
she  has  just  buried  a  valuable  two  under  a  pile  of 
kings  and  queens  in  her  rubbish  heap. 

The  result  of  Gorman's  devotion  to  the  lady  was 
that  I  was  left  to  improve  my  acquaintance  with  her 
husband.  The  more  I  talked  to  Ascher  the  better  I 
liked  him.  His  admiration  for  his  wife's  sensitiveness 
to  sound  was  very  touching.  I  am  convinced  that  he 
knew  a  great  deal  more  about  music  than  she  did  and 
appreciated  it  more.  But  her  sudden  outbursts  of 


36  GOSSAMER 

petulance  when  the  band  played  seemed  to  Ascher  a 
plain  proof  that  she  had  the  spirit  of  an  artist.  He 
confided  in  me  that  it  gave  him  ^eal  pleasure  to  see 
her  and  Gorman  together  because,  as  artists,  they  must 
have  much  in  common.  Ascher  has  a  very  simple  and 
beautiful  nature.  No  one  with  any  other  kind  of 
nature  could  put  up  with  Mrs.  Ascher  as  a  wife. 

Mere  simplicity  of  soul  and  beauty  of  character 
would  not,  I  am  afraid,  have  kept  me  at  Ascher's  side 
for  the  rest  of  the  voyage.  Virtue,  like  the  innocence 
of  the  young,  is  admirable  but  apt  to  be  tiresome. 
What  attracted  me  most  to  Ascher  was  his  ability,  the 
last  thing  he  recognised  in  himself.  When  he  found 
out  that  I  was  interested  in  his  business  he  talked  to 
me  quite  freely  about  it,  though  always  with  a  certain 
suggestion  of  apology.  There  was  no  need  for  any- 
thing of  the  sort.  He  revealed  to  me  a  whole  world 
of  fascinating  romance  of  which  I  had  never  before 
suspected  the  existence.  Some  day,  perhaps,  a  poet — 
he  will  have  to  be  a  great  poet — will  discover  that 
the  system  of  credit  by  means  of  which  our  civilisa- 
tion works,  deserves  an  epic.  Neither  the  wander- 
ings of  Ulysses  nor  the  discoveries  of  a  traveller 
through  Paradise  and  Purgatory  make  so  splendid  an 
appeal  to  the  imagination  as  this  vastly  complex  ma- 
chine which  Ascher  and  men  like  him  guide.  The 
oceans  of  the  world  are  covered  thick  with  ships. 
Long  freight  trains  wind  like  serpents  across  con- 
tinents. Kings  build  navies.  Ploughmen  turn  up  the 
clay.  The  wheels  of  factories  go  round.  The  minds 
of  men  bend  nature  to  their  purposes  by  fresh  inven- 


GOSSAMER  37 

tions.  Science  creeps  forward  inch  by  inch.  Human 
beings  everywhere  eat,  drink  and  reproduce  them- 
selves. The  myriad  activities  of  the  whole  wide  world 
go  profitably  on.  They  can  go  on  only  because  the 
Aschers,  sitting  at  their  office  desks  in  London  or 
New  York,  direct  the  purchase  or  sale  of  what  are  but 
scratches  with  a  pen  on  bits  of  paper. 

There  is,  no  doubt,  another  way  of  looking  at  the 
system.  The  ships,  the  kings,  the  mighty  minds,  the 
common  men,  are  all  of  them  in  bondage  to  Ascher 
and  his  kind.  He  and  his  brother  financiers  are  the 
unseen  rulers,  the  mysteriously  shrouded  tyrants  of 
the  world.  This  system  of  credit,  which  need  not  be 
at  all  or  might  be  quite  other  than  it  is,  has  given 
them  supreme,  untempered  power,  which  they  use 
to  the  injury  of  men.  This  is  Gorman's  view.  But 
is  it  any  less  romantic  than  the  other?  An  epic  can 
be  written  round  a  devil  as  greatly  as  round  a  hero. 
Milton  showed  us  that.  What  is  wanted  in  a  poet's 
theme  is  grandeur,  either  fine  or  terrible.  Ascher's 
grip  upon  the  world  has  surely  that 


CHAPTER  III. 

WE  landed  in  New  York  and  to  my  satisfaction  I 
secured  the  rooms  I  usually  occupy.  They  are 
in  a  small  hotel  off  Fifth  Avenue,  half  way  between 
the  streets  which  boast  of  numbers  higher  than  fifty, 
and  those  others  which  follow  the  effete  European 
customs  of  having  names.  It  is  one  of  the  paradoxes 
of  New  York  that  the  parts  of  the  city  where  fash- 
ionable people  live  and  spend  their  money  are  severely 
business-like  in  the  treatment  of  streets,  laying  them 
out  so  as  to  form  correct  parallelograms  and  dis- 
tinguishing them  by  numbers  instead  of  names,  as  if 
terrified  of  letting  imagination  loose  for  a  moment. 
Down  town  where  the  money  is  made  and  the  offices 
of  the  money  makers  are  piled  one  on  top  of  another, 
the  streets  are  as  irregular  as  those  of  London  or 
Paris,  and  have  all  sorts  of  fascinatingly  suggestive 
names.  My  hotel  stands  in  the  debatable  land  between 
the  two  districts.  Fashionable  life  is  ebbing  away 
from  its  neighbourhood.  Business  is,  as  yet,  a  little 
shy  of  invading  it.  The  situation  makes  an  appeal 
to  me.  I  may  be,  as  Gorman  says,  a  man  of  no 
country,  but  I  am  a  man  of  two  worlds.  I  cling 
to  the  skirts  of  society,  something  of  an  outsider,  yet 
one  who  has  the  right  of  entry,  if  I  choose  to  take 
the  trouble,  the  large  amount  of  trouble  necessary  to 

38 


GOSSAMER  39 

exercise  the  right.  I  am  one  who  is  trying  to  make 
money,  scarcely  more  than  an  amateur  among  business 
men,  but  deeply  interested  in  their  pursuits.  This 
particular  hotel  seems  to  me  therefore  a  convenient, 
that  is  to  say  a  suitable  place  of  residence  for  me.  It 
is  not  luxurious,  nor  is  it  cheap,  but  it  is  comfortable, 
which  is  perhaps  the  real  reason  why  I  go  to  it. 

I  gave  Gorman  my  address  before  I  left  the  ship, 
but  I  did  not  expect  him  to  make  any  use  of  it.  I 
thought  that  I  had  seen  the  last  of  him  when  I  crossed 
the  gangway  and'  got  caught  in  the  whirlpool  of  fuss 
which  eddied  round  the  custom  house  shed.  I  was 
very  much  surprised  when  he  walked  in  on  me  at 
breakfast  time  on  the  second  morning  after  our  ar- 
rival. I  was  eating  an  omelette  at  the  time.  I  offered 
him  a  share  of  it  and  a  cup  of  coffee.  Gorman  refused 
both ;  but  he  helped  himself  to  a  glass  of  iced  water. 
This  shows  how  adaptable  Gorman  is.  Hardly  any 
European  can  drink  iced  water  at  or  immediately 
after  breakfast  during  the  first  week  he  spends  in 
America.  I  do  not  take  to  the  stuff  till  I  have  been 
there  about  a  fortnight.  But  Gorman,  in  spite  of  his 
patriotism,  has  a  good  deal  of  the  cosmopolitan  about 
him.  Strange  foods  and  drinks  upset  him  very 
little. 

"Doing  anything  this  evening?"  he  asked.  "If  not 
will  you  spend  it  with  me?  Ascher  has  promised  to 
come.  We're  going  to  a  circus  and  on  for  supper 
afterwards.  You  remember  the  circus  I  mentioned 
to  you  on  the  steamer." 

I  hesitated  before  I  answered.    I  suppose  I  looked 


40  GOSSAMER 

a  little  astonished.  That  Gorman  should  propose  an 
evening  out  was  natural  enough.  I  should  not  call 
him  a  dissipated  man,  but  he  has  a  great  deal  of 
vitality  and  he  likes  what  he  calls  "a  racket"  occa- 
sionally. What  surprised  me  was  that  a  circus  should 
be  his  idea  of  dissipation.  A  circus  is  the  sort  of 
entertainment  to  which  I  send  my  nephew — a  boy  of 
eleven — when  he  spends  the  night  with  me  in  London 
on  his  way  to  school.  My  servant,  a  thoroughly 
trustworthy  man,  takes  him  there.  I  pay  for  the 
tickets.  Gorman,  Ascher,  and  I  were  three  grown 
men  and  we  could  not  boast  of  a  child  among  us  to 
serve  as  an  excuse  for  going  to  a  circus. 

"It's  quite  a  good  show,"  said  Gorman. 

I  tried  to  think  of  Ascher  at  a  circus.  I  failed  to 
picture  him,  a  man  educated  up  to  the  highest  forms 
of  art,  gazing  in  delight  while  a  lady  in  short  petti- 
coats jumps  through  a  hoop  from  the  back  of  a  gal- 
loping horse.  I  had  not  been  at  a  circus  for  about 
thirty  years,  since  my  tenth  birthday  indeed,  but  I  do 
not  believe  that  the  form  of  entertainment  has  changed 
much  since  then.  The  clowns'  jokes — I  judge  from 
my  nephew's  reports — are  certainly  the  same  as  they 
were  in  my  time.  But  even  very  great  improvements 
would  not  make  circuses  tolerable  to  really  artistic 
people  like  Ascher. 

"I've  got  free  passes  for  the  best  seats,"  said  Gor- 
man. 

He  had  mistaken  the  cause  of  my  hesitation.  I 
was  not  thinking  of  the  cost  of  our  evening's  amuse- 
ment, 


GOSSAMER  41 

"You  journalists,"  I  said,  "are  wonderful.  You 
get  into  the  front  row  every  time  without  paying, 
whether  it's  a  coronation  or  a  funeral.  How  did  you 
manage  it  this  time?" 

"My  brother  Tim  is  connected  with  the  show.  I 
daresay  you  don't  remember  him  at  Curraghbeg.  He 
was  fifteen  years  younger  than  me.  My  father  mar- 
ried a  second  time,  you  know.  Tim  is  my  half- 
brother." 

I  did  not  remember  Gorman  himself  in  Curraghbeg. 
I  could  not  be  expected  to  remember  Tim  who  must 
have  been  still  unborn  when  I  left  home  to  join 
the  Army. 

"Tim  has  the  brains  of  our  family,"  said  Gorman. 
"His  mother  was  a  very  clever  woman." 

I  never  heard  Gorman  say  anything  worse  than 
that  about  his  step-mother,  and  yet  she  certainly 
treated  him  very  badly. 

"You're  all  clever,"  I  said.  "Your  father  drove 
mine  out  of  the  country  and  deprived  him  of  his 
property.  It  took  ability  to  do  that.  You  are  a 
Member  of  Parliament  and  a  brilliant  journalist. 
Timothy — I  hardly  like  to  speak  of  him  as  Tim — owns 
a  splendid  circus." 

"He  doesn't  own  it,"  said  Gorman. 

"Well,  runs  it,"  I  said.  "I  expect  it  takes  more 
brains  to  run  a  circus  than  to  own  one." 

"He  doesn't  exactly  run  it,"  said  Gorman.  "In  fact 
he  only  takes  the  money  at  the  door.  But  he  has 
brains.  That's  why  I  want  Ascher  to  meet  him.  I 
didn't  ask  Mrs.  Ascher,"  he  added  thoughtfully, 


42  GOSSAMER 

"though  she  hinted  for  an  invitation,  rather  made  a 
set  at  me,  in  fact." 

"Give  her  my  ticket,"  I  said.  "I  don't  mind  a  bit. 
I'll  buy  another  for  myself  in  a  cheap  part  of  the 
house,  and  join  you  at  supper  afterwards.  You  ought 
not  to  disappoint  Mrs.  Ascher." 

"I  don't  want  Mrs.  Acher  this  time.  She'd  be  in  the 
way.  She's  a  charming  woman,  of  course,  though  she 
does  bore  me  a  bit  about  music  and  talks  of  her  soul." 

"Good  Heavens!"  I  said.  "You  haven't  been  dis- 
cussing religion  with  her,  surely.  I  didn't  think  you'd 
do  a  thing  like  that,  Gorman.  You  oughtn't  to." 

"Never  mentioned  religion  to  her  in  my  life.  Noth- 
ing would  induce  me  to.  For  one  thing  I  don't  believe 
she  has  any." 

"You're  a  Roman  Catholic  yourself,  aren't  you  ?" 

"Well,"  said  Gorman,  "I  don't  know  that  I  can  say 
that  I  am  exactly ;  but  I'm  not  a  Protestant  or  a  Jew. 
But  that's  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Mrs.  Ascher  doesn't 
talk  about  her  soul  in  a  religious  way.  In  fact — I 
don't  know  if  you'll  understand,  but  what  she  means 
by  a  soul  is  something  quite  different,  not  the  same 
sort  of  soul." 

I  understood  perfectly.  I  have  met  several  women 
of  Mrs.  Ascher's  kind.  They  are  rather  boastful 
about  their  souls  and  even  talk  of  saving  or  losing 
them.  But  they  do  not  mean  what  one  of  Gorman's 
priests  would  mean,  or  what  my  poor  father,  who  was 
a  strongly  evangelical  Protestant,  meant  by  the 
phrases. 

"We  are  not  accustomed  to  souls  like  hers  in  Ire- 


GOSSAMER 


land.  We  only  go  in  for  the  commonplace,  old-fash- 
ioned sort." 

Gorman  smiled. 

"She  wouldn't  be  seen  with  one  of  them  about  her," 
he  said.  "They're  vulgar  things.  Everybody  has 
one." 

"Soul  or  no  soul,"  I  said,  "you  ought  to  invite 
Mrs.  Ascher  to  your  party.  Why  not  do  the  civil 
thing?" 

"I'll  do  the  civil  thing  some  other  time.  I'll  take 
her  to  a  concert,  but  I  don't  want  her  to-night." 

"Perhaps,"  I  said,  "your  brother's  circus  is  a  little — 
shall  we  say  Parisian?  I  don't  think  you  need  mind 
that.  Mrs.  Ascher  isn't  exactly  a  girl.  It  would  take 
a  lot  to  shock  her.  In  fact,  Gorman,  my  experience 
of  these  women  with  artistic  souls  is  that  the  riskier 
the  thing  is  the  better  they  like  it." 

That  is,  as  I  have  noticed,  one  of  the  great  differ- 
ences between  a  commonplace,  so  to  speak,  religious 
soul  and  a  soul  of  the  artistic  kind.  You  save  the  one 
by  keeping  it  as  clean  as  you  can.  The  other  seems 
to  thrive  best  when  heavily  manured.  It  is  no  dis- 
paragement of  the  artistic  soul  to  say  that  it  likes 
manure.  Some  of  the  most  delicious  and  beautiful 
things  in  the  world  are  like  that,  raspberries  for  in- 
stance, which  make  excellent  jam,  roses  about  which 
poets  write,  and  begonias.  I  knew  a  man  once  who 
poured  bedroom  slops  into  his  begonia  bed  every  day 
and  he  had  the  finest  flowers  I  ever  saw. 

"Gorman,"  I  said,  "did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that 
Mrs.  Ascher's  soul  is  like  a  begonia?" 


44  GOSSAMER 

"Bother  Mrs.  Ascher's  soul!"  said  Gorman.  "I'm 
not  thinking  about  it.  The  circus  is  a  show  you  might 
take  a  nun  to.  Nobody  could  possibly  object  to  it. 
The  reason  I  headed  her  off  was  because  I  wanted 
to  talk  business  to  Ascher,  very  particular  business 
and  rather  important.  In  fact,"  here  he  sank  his  voice 
to  a  confidential  whisper,  "I  want  you  to  help  me  to 
rope  him  in." 

"If  you've  succeeded  in  roping  him  into  a  circus," 
I  said,  "I  should  think  you  could  rope  him  into  any- 
thing else  without  my  help.  Would  you  mind  telling 
me  what  the  scheme  is  ?" 

"I'm  trying  to,"  he  said,  "but  you  keep  interrupting 
me  with  silly  riddles  about  begonias." 

"I'm  sorry  I  mentioned  begonias.  All  the  same  it's 
a  pity  you  wouldn't  listen.  You'd  have  liked  the  part 
about  manure.  But  never  mind.  Go  on  about 
Ascher." 

"My  brother  Tim,"  said  Gorman,  "has  invented  a 
new  cash  register.  He's  always  inventing  things ;  been 
at  it  ever  since  he  was  a  boy.  But  they're  mostly  quite 
useless  things  though  as  cute  as  the  devil.  In  fact  I 
don't  think  he  ever  hit  on  anything  the  least  bit  of 
good  till  he  got  this  cash  register." 

"Before  we  go  further,"  I  said,  "what  is  a  cash 
register  ?" 

"It's  a  machine  used  in  shops  and  cheap  tea-places 
for " 

"I  know  now,"  I  said.  "It  has  keys  like  a  type- 
writer. That's  all  right.  I  thought  for  a  moment  it 
might  be  a  book,  a  ledger,  you  know.  Go  on." 


GOSSAMER  45 

"Well,  Tim's  machine  is  out  and  away  the  best 
thing  of  its  kind  ever  seen.  There's  simply  no  com- 
parison between  it  and  the  existing  cash  registers. 
I've  had  it  tested  in  every  way  and  I  know." 

I  began,  so  I  thought,  to  see  what  Ascher  was  to  be 
roped  into. 

"You  want  money  to  patent  it,  I  suppose,"  I  said. 

But  that  was  not  it.  Gorman  had  scraped  together 
whatever  money  was  necessary  to  make  his  brother's 
invention  secure  in  Europe  and  America.  He  had 
done  more,  he  had  formed  a  small  private  company 
in  which  he  held  most  of  the  shares  himself.  He  had 
manufactured  a  hundred  of  the  new  machines  and  was 
prepared  to  put  them  on  the  market. 

"Ah,"  I  said.  "Now  I  see  what  you're  at.  You 
want  more  capital.  You  want  to  work  the  thing  on 
a  big  scale.  I  might  take  a  share  or  two  myself,  just 
for  the  sake  of  having  a  flutter." 

"We  don't  want  you,"  said  Gorman.  "The  fewer 
there  are  in  it  the  better.  I  don't  want  to  have  to 
divide  the  profits  with  a  whole  townful  of  people. 
But  we  might  let  you  in  if  you  get  Ascher  for  us. 
You  have  a  lot  of  influence  with  Ascher." 

I  had,  of  course,  no  influence  whatever  with  Ascher. 
But  Gorman,  though  he  is  certainly  a  clever  man,  has 
the  defects  of  his  class  and  his  race.  He  was  an  Irish 
peasant  to  start  with  and  there  never  was  an  Irish 
peasant  yet  who  did  not  believe  in  a  mysterious  power 
which  he  calls  "influence."  It  is  curious  faith,  though 
it  justifies  itself  pretty  well  in  Ireland.  In  that  coun- 
try you  can  get  nearly  anything  done,  either  good  or 


46  GOSSAMER 

bad,  if  you  persuade  a  sufficiently  influential  person  to 
recommend  it.  Gorman's  mistake,  as  it  seemed  to  me, 
lay  in  supposing  that  influence  is  equally  potent  out- 
side Ireland.  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  no  use  at  all 
in  dealing  with  a  man  like  Ascher.  If  a  big  financial 
magnate  will  not  supply  money  for  an  enterprise  on 
the  merits  of  the  thing  he  is  not  likely  to  do  so  be- 
cause a  friend  asks  him.  Besides  I  cannot,  or  could 
not  at  that  time,  boast  of  being  Ascher's  intimate 
friend.  However  Gorman's  mistake  was  no  affair  of 
mine. 

"If  Ascher  goes  in  at  all,"  I  said,  "he'll  do  it  on  a 
pretty  big  scale.  He'll  simply  absorb  the  rest  of  you." 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Gorman,  "I  don't  want  Ascher 
to  join.  I  don't  want  him  to  put  down  a  penny  of 
money.  All  I  want  him  to  do  is  to  back  us.  Of  course 
he'll  get  his  whack  of  whatever  we  make,  and  if  he 
likes  to  be  the  nominal  owner  of  some  bonus  shares 
in  our  company  he  can.  That  would  regularise  his 
position.  The  way  the  thing  stands  is  this." 

I  had  finished  my  breakfast  and  lit  a  cigar.  Gorman 
pulled  out  his  pipe  and  sat  down  opposite  to  me.  I 
am  not,  I  regret  to  say,  a  business  man,  but  I  suc- 
ceeded in  understanding  fairly  well  what  he  told 
me. 

His  brother's  cash  register,  if  properly  advertised 
and  put  on  the  market,  would  drive  out  every  other 
cash  register  in  the  world.  In  the  long  run  nothing 
could  stand  against  it.  Of  that  Gorman  was  perfectly 
convinced.  But  the  proprietors  of  the  existing  cash 
registers  would  not  submit  without  a  struggle. 


GOSSAMER  47 

Gorman  nodded  gravely  when  he  told  me  this.  Evi- 
dently their  struggles  were  the  very  essence  of  the 
situation. 

"What  can  they  do?"  I  said.  "If  your  machine  is 
much  better  than  theirs  surely " 

"They'll  do  what  people  always  do  on  these  occa- 
sions. They'll  infringe  our  patents." 

"But  the  law " 

"Yes,"  said  Gorman,  "the  law.  It's  just  winning 
law  suits  that  would  ruin  us.  Every  time  we  got  a 
judgment  in  our  favour  the  case  would  be  appealed 
to  a  higher  court.  That  would  happen  here  and  in 
England  and  in  France  and  in  every  country  in  the 
world  civilised  enough  to  use  cash  registers.  Sooner 
or  later,  pretty  soon  too — we  should  have  no  money 
left  to  fight  with." 

"Bankrupt,"  I  said,  "as  a  consequence  of  your  own 
success.  What  an  odd  situation!" 

"Now,"  said  Gorman,  "you  see  where  Ascher  comes 
in." 

"I  do.  But  I  don't  expect  he'll  spend  his  firm's 
money  fighting  speculative  law  suits  all  over  the  world 
just  to  please  you." 

"You  don't  see  the  position  in  the  least.  There'll 
be  no  law  suits  and  he  won't  spend  a  penny.  Once 
it's  known  that  his  firm  is  behind  us  no  one  will 
attempt  to  touch  our  patent.  People  aren't  such  fools 
as  to  start  playing  beggar-my-neighbour  with  Ascher, 
Stutz  &  Co.  The  whole  world  knows  that  their 
firm  has  money  enough  to  go  on  paying  lawyers  right 
on  until  the  day  of  judgment." 


48  GOSSAMER 

"I  hope  to  goodness,"  I  said,  "that  we  shan't  meet 
lawyers  then." 

Gorman  smiled.  Up  to  that  point  it  had  been  im- 
possible to  move  him  from  his  desperate  earnestness, 
but  a  joke  at  the  expense  of  lawyers  is  sure  of  a  smile 
under  any  circumstances.  With  the  possible  excep- 
tion of  the  mother-in-law  joke,  the  lawyer  joke  is  the 
oldest  in  the  world  and  like  all  well  tested  jokes  it 
may  be  relied  on. 

"There  won't  be  any  lawyers  then,"  said  Gorman. 
"They'll  go  straight  to  hell  without  the  formality  of  a 
trial." 

This  seemed  to  me  to  be  carrying  the  joke  too  far. 
I  have  known  several  lawyers  who  were  no  worse 
than  other  professional  men,  quite  upright  and  hon- 
ourable compared  to  doctors.  I  should  have  liked  to 
argue  the  point  with  Gorman.  But  for  the  moment  I 
was  more  interested  in  the  future  of  the  new  cash 
register  than  in  the  ultimate  destiny  of  lawyers. 

"If  you  get  Ascher  to  back  you,"  I  said,  "and  your 
patents  are  safe,  you'll  want  to  begin  making  machines 
on  a  big  scale.  Where  will  you  get  the  money  for 
that?" 

"You  haven't  quite  caught  on  yet,"  said  Gorman. 
"I  don't  want  to  make  the  things  at  all.  Why  should 
I  ?  There  would  have  to  be  a  large  company.  I  have 
neither  time  nor  inclination  to  manage  it.  Tim  hasn't 
that  kind  of  brains.  Besides  it  would  be  risky.  Some- 
body might  come  along  any  day  with  a  better  machine 
and  knock  ours  out.  People  are  always  inventing 
things,  you  know.  What  I  want  is  a  nice  large  sum 


GOSSAMER  49 

of  hard  cash  without  any  bother  or  risk.  Don't  you 
see  that  the  other  people,  the  owners  of  the  present 
cash  registers,  will  have  to  buy  us  out?  If  our  ma- 
chine is  the  best  and  they  daren't  go  to  law  with  us 
they  must  buy  us  out.  There's  no  other  course  open 
to  them.  What's  more,  they'll  have  to  pay  pretty 
nearly  what  we  ask.  In  fact,  if  we  put  up  a  good 
bluff  there's  hardly  any  end  to  the  extent  to  which 
we  can  bleed  them.  See  ?" 

I  saw  something  which  looked  to  me  like  a  modern- 
ised form  of  highway  robbery. 

"Is  that  sort  of  thing  common?"  I  said. 

"Done  every  day,"  said  Gorman.    "It's  business." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "there's  one  justification  for  your 
proceedings.  If  half  what  you  say  about  your  broth- 
er's invention  is  true  the  world  will  get  the  benefit  of 
a  greatly  improved  cash  register.  I  suppose  that's  the 
way  civilisation  advances." 

"The  world  be  damned,"  said  Gorman.  "It'll  get 
nothing.  You  don't  suppose  the  people  who  buy  us 
out  are  going  to  start  making  Tim's  machine.  They 
can  if  they  like,  of  course,  once  they've  paid  us.  But 
it  will  cost  them  hundreds  of  thousands  if  they  do. 
They'd  have  to  scrap  all  their  existing  plant  and  turn 
their  factories  inside  out,  and  in  the  end  they  wouldn't 
make  any  more  profit  than  they're  making  now.  No. 
They'll  simply  suppress  Tim's  invention  and  the  silly 
old  world  will  go  on  with  the  machines  it  has  at 
present." 

"Gorman,"  I  said,  "you  gave  me  to  understand  a 
minute  or  so  ago  that  you  went  in  for  the  old- fash- 


50  GOSSAMER 

ioned  kind  of  soul,  the  kind  we  were  both  brought 
up  to.  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  I  wouldn't  rather  have 
Mrs.  Ascher's  new  kind,  even  if  it " 

"Don't  start  talking  about  begonias  again,"  said 
Gorman. 

"I  wasn't  going  to.  I  was  only  going  to  say  that 
even  plays  in  which  nothing  happens  and  grimy  women 
say  indecent  things — that's  art  you  know — seem  to  me 
better  than  the  sort  of  things  your  soul  fattens  on." 

"I  don't  see  any  good  talking  about  souls,"  said 
Gorman.  "This  is  a  matter  of  business.  The  other 
people  will  crush  us  if  they  can.  If  they  can't,  and 
they  won't  be  able  to  if  Ascher  backs  us,  they'll  have 
to  pay  us.  There's  nothing  wrong  about  that,  is 
there?  Look  at  it  this  way.  We've  got  something 
to  sell " 

"Cash  registers,"  I  said.  "But  you  don't  propose 
to  sell  them." 

"Not  cash  registers,  but  the  right  to  make  a  certain 
kind  of  cash  registers.  That's  what  we're  going  to 
sell.  We  could  sell  it  to  the  public,  form  a  company 
to  use  the  rights.  It  suits  us  better  for  various  reasons 
to  sell  it  to  these  people.  It  suits  them  to  buy.  They 
needn't  unless  they  like.  But  they  will  like.  Now  if 
we  want  to  sell  and  they  want  to  buy  and  we  agree 
on  the  price  where  does  anybody's  soul  come  in  ?" 

"There  is  evidently,"  I  said,  "a  third  kind  of  soul. 
The  original,  religious  kind,  the  artistic  kind,  and  what 
we  may  call  the  business  soul.  You  have  a  mixture  of 
all  three  in  you,  Gorman." 

"I  wish  you'd  stop  worrying  about  my  soul  and  tell 


GOSSAMER  51 

me  this.  Are  you  going  to  help  to  rope  in  Ascher  or 
not  ?  He'll  come  if  you  use  your  influence  with  him." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  I  said.  "Of  course  I'm  going 
to  help.  Haven't  you  offered  me  a  share  of  the  loot?" 

"I  thought  you  would,"  said  Gorman  triumphantly. 
"But  what  about  your  own  soul?" 

"I  haven't  got  one,"  I  said. 

I  used  to  have  a  sort  of  instinct  called  honour  which 
served  men  of  my  class  instead  of  a  soul.  But  Gorman 
and  Gorman's  father  before  him  and  their  political 
associates  have  succeeded  in  abolishing  gentlemen  in 
Ireland.  There  is  no  longer  the  class  of  gentry  in 
that  country  and  the  few  surviving  individuals  have 
learned  that  honour  is  a  silly  superstition.  I  am  now 
a  disinterested  spectator  of  a  game  which  my  ances- 
tors played  and  lost.  The  virtue  desirable  in  a  spec- 
tator is  not  honour  but  curiosity.  I  wanted  very  much 
to  see  how  Ascher  would  take  Gorman's  proposal 
and  how  the  whole  thing  would  work  out.  I  prom- 
ised to  sit  through  the  circus,  to  attend  the  supper 
party  afterwards  and  to  do  the  best  I  could  to  persuade 
Ascher  to  join  our  robber  band. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MRS.  ASCHER  is  not  the  woman  to  miss  an  enter- 
tainment she  desires  merely  because  she  lacks 
an  invitation.  She  arrived  at  the  door  of  the  circus 
in  a  taxicab  with  Ascher.  Gorman  and  I  were  there 
and  when  he  first  saw  Mrs.  Ascher  he  swore.  How- 
ever he  was  forced  to  give  her  some  sort  of  welcome 
and  he  did  it  pretty  well,  though  I  fear  Ascher  might 
have  noticed  a  note  of  insincerity  in  his  voice.  But 
that  was  only  at  first.  Gorman's  temper  changed  when 
we  reached  our  seats  and  Mrs.  Ascher  threw  off  her 
cloak. 

She  was  wearing  an  evening  gown  of  the  most 
startling  design  and  colour.  I  should  have  said  be- 
forehand that  a  woman  with  a  skin  as  pallid  as  that 
of  a  corpse  and  so  little  flesh  that  her  bones  stick  up 
jaggedly  would  be  wise  to  avoid  very  low  dresses. 
Mrs.  Ascher  displayed,  when  she  took  off  her  cloak, 
as  much  skin  and  bone  as  she  could  without  risking 
arrest  at  the  hands  of  the  police.  Her  gown,  what 
there  was  of  it,  was  of  a  vivid  orange  colour  and  she 
wore  emeralds  round  her  neck.  If  the  main  object  of 
wearing  clothes  is,  as  some  philosophers  maintain, 
to  attract  attention,  then  Mrs.  Ascher  understands  the 
art  of  dress.  She  created  a  sensation.  That  was 
what  pleased  Gorman.  He  is  a  man  who  likes  to  be 

52 


GOSSAMER  53 

the  centre  of  interest  wherever  he  is,  or  if  that  is  not 
possible,  to  be  attached  to  the  person  who  has  secured 
that  fortunate  position.  Mrs.  Ascher  attracts  the 
public  gaze  wherever  she  goes.  I  have  seen  people 
turn  round  to  stare  at  her  in  the  dining  room  of  the 
Ritz  in  New  York  and  at  supper  in  the  Carlton  in 
London.  The  men  and  women  who  formed  the  audi- 
ence in  Gorman's  circus  were  unaccustomed  to  daring 
splendour  of  raiment.  They  actually  gasped  when 
Mrs.  Ascher  threw  off  her  cloak  and  Gorman  felt  glad 
that  she  had  come. 

She  said  a  few  words  to  me  about  the  delight  which 
an  artist's  soul  feels  in  coming  into  direct  contact  with 
the  seething  life  of  the  people,  and  she  mentioned  with 
appreciation  a  French  picture,  one  of  Degas'  I  think, 
which  represents  ballet  dancers  practising  their  art. 
Then  she  and  Gorman  settled  down  in  two  of  the  three 
seats  reserved  for  us.  Ascher  and  I  retired  modestly 
to  the  back  of  what  I  may  call  the  dress  circle.  After 
a  while  when  the  performance  was  well  under  way, 
Gorman's  brother  came  in.  I  suppose  the  greater  part 
of  his  evening's  work  was  done  and  he  was  able  to 
leave  the  task  of  dealing  with  late  comers  to  some 
subordinate  clerk.  He  looked  a  mere  boy,  younger 
than  I  expected,  as  he  stood  at  the  end  of  the  row 
of  seats  trying  to  attract  his  brother's  attention.  Gor- 
man was  so  much  occupied  with  Mrs.  Ascher  that 
for  some  time  he  did  not  notice  Tim.  I  had  time 
to  observe  the  boy.  He  had  fair  hair,  and  large, 
childlike  blue  eyes.  He  was  evidently  nervous,  for  he 
shifted  his  weight  from  one  leg  to  the  other.  He  kept 


54  GOSSAMER 

pulling  at  his  tie,  and  occasionally  patting  his  hair. 
He  was  quite  right  to  be  uncomfortable  about  his  hair. 
It  was  very  untidy  and  one  particular  lock  stood  out 
stiffly  at  the  back  of  his  head. 

Gorman  saw  him  at  last  and  immediately  introduced 
him  to  Ascher  and  to  me.  But  Tim  was  far  too  nerv- 
ous to  sit  down  beside  us.  He  crept  after  his  brother 
and  took  a  chair,  three  seats  beyond  Gorman,  away 
from  Mrs.  Ascher.  She  spotted  him  directly  and  in- 
sisted on  his  sitting  beside  her.  She  is  a  woman  who 
likes  to  have  a  man  of  some  sort  on  each  side  of  her. 
Tim  Gorman  was  little  more  than  a  boy  but  he  was 
plainly  frightened  of  her.  I  suppose  that  gave  zest 
to  the  sport  of  annexing  him.  Besides,  his  eyes  are 
very  fine,  and,  if  souls  really  shine  through  eyes, 
showed  that  he  was  refreshingly  innocent.  I  expect, 
too,  that  there  was  something  piquant  in  the  company 
of  the  clerk  who  takes  the  money  at  the  door  of  a 
second-rate  entertainment.  Mrs.  Ascher  has  often 
told  me  that  she  is  more  interested  in  life 
than  in  anything  else,  even  art.  She  distinguishes  be- 
tween life  and  real  life.  Mine,  I  gather,  is  not  nearly 
so  real  as  that  of  a  performer  in  a  travelling  circus. 
I  do  not  know  why  this  should  be  so,  but  I  have  no 
doubt  that  it  is.  Mrs.  Ascher  is  not  by  any  means  the 
only  person  who  thinks  so.  Tim  Gorman's  life  was 
apparently  real  enough  to  attract  her  greatly.  She 
paid  him  the  compliment  of  talking  a  good  deal  to  the 
boy,  though  she  was  far  too  clever  a  woman  to  let  the 
elder  brother  feel  himself  neglected. 

A  learned  horse  had  just  begun  its  performance 


GOSSAMER  55 

when  Tim  Gorman  entered.  It  went  on  for  some  time 
picking  out  large  letters  from  a  pile  in  front  of  it  and 
arranging  them  so  as  to  spell  out  "yes"  or  "no"  in  an- 
swer to  questions  asked  by  a  man  with  a  long  whip 
in  his  hand.  The  animal  used  one  of  its  front  hoofs 
in  arranging  the  letters,  and  looked  singularly  undig- 
nified. Ascher  sat  quite  still  with  an  air  of  grave 
politeness.  I  tried  to  get  him  to  tell  me  what  he 
thought  of  the  learned  horse  but  could  get  nothing 
out  of  him.  Long  silences  make  me  uncomfortable. 
I  felt  at  last  that  it  was  better  to  talk  nonsense  thati 
not  to  talk  at  all. 

"I  suppose,"  I  said,  "that  learned  men  look  almost 
as  grotesque  to  the  angels  as  learned  horses  do  to  us. 
I  can  fancy  Raphael  watching  a  German  professor 
writing  a  book  on  the  origin  of  religion.  He  would 
feel  all  the  while  that  the  creature's  front  paw  was 
meant  by  nature  for  nobler  uses." 

"Yes,"  said  Ascher,  "yes.    Quite  so." 

He  spoke  vaguely.  I  think  he  did  not  hear  what 
I  said.  Or  perhaps  the  learned  horse  struck  him  dif- 
ferently. Or  his  mind  may  have  been  entirely  occu- 
pied with  the  problem  of  Mexican  railways  so  that 
he  could  pay  no  attention  either  to  the  learned  horse 
or  to  me.  If  so,  he  was  wakened  from  his  reverie  by 
the  next  performance. 

A  company  of  acrobats  in  spangled  tights,  three  men 
and  one  young  woman,  took  possession  of  the  arena. 
At  first  they  tumbled,  turned  somersaults,  climbed  on 
each  other's  shoulders  and  assumed  attitudes  which  I 
should  have  said  beforehand  were  impossible  for  any 


56  GOSSAMER 

creature  with  bones.  Then  a  large  net  was  stretched 
some  six  feet  from  the  ground  and  several  trapezes 
which  had  been  tied  to  the  roof  were  allowed  to  hang 
down.  The  acrobats  climbed  up  by  a  ladder  and 
swung  from  one  trapeze  to  another.  The  business  was 
commonplace  enough,  but  I  became  aware  that  Ascher 
was  very  much  interested  in  it.  He  became  actually 
excited  when  we  reached  the  final  act,  the  climax  of 
the  performance. 

The  programme,  at  which  I  glanced,  spoke  of  "The 
Flying  Lady."  The  woman,  her  spangles  aglitter  in 
a  blaze  of  lime  light,  did  indubitably  fly,  if  rushing 
unsupported  through  the  air  at  some  height  from  solid 
ground  is  the  essence  of  flying.  Two  of  the  men 
hung  on  their  trapezes,  one  by  his  hands  and  the  other 
by  his  legs.  They  swung  backwards  and  forwards. 
The  length  of  the  ropes  was  so  great  that  they  passed 
through  large  arcs,  approaching  each  other  and  then 
swinging  back  until  there  was  a  long  space  between 
them.  The  young  woman,  standing  on  a  third  trapeze, 
swung  too.  Suddenly,  at  the  upward  end  of  a  swing, 
just  as  her  trapeze  hung  motionless  for  an  instant,  she 
launched  herself  into  the  air.  The  man  on  the  next 
trapeze  came  swinging  towards  her.  She  caught  him 
by  the  feet  at  the  very  moment  when  he  was  nearest 
to  her.  He  swung  back  and  she  dangled  below  him. 
When  he  reached  the  highest  point  of  the  half  circle 
through  which  he  passed,  she  was  stretched  out,  mak- 
ing with  him  a  horizontal  line.  At  that  moment  she 
let  go  and  shot,  feet  foremost,  through  the  air.  The 
man  who  hung  head  downwards  from  the  next  trapeze 


GOSSAMER  57 

came  swiftly  towards  her  and  caught  her  by  the  ankles. 
The  two  swung  back  together  and  at  the  end  of  his 
course  he  let  her  go.  The  impulse  of  his  swing  sent 
her,  turning  swiftly  as  she  flew,  towards  a  ladder  at 
the  end  of  the  row.  She  alighted  on  her  feet  on  a' 
little  platform,  high  up  near  the  roof  of  the  building. 
There  she  stood,  bowing  and  smiling. 

The  people  burst  into  a  shout  of  cheering.  Ascher 
leaned  forward  in  his  seat  and  gazed  at  her.  The 
two  men  still  kept  their  trapezes  in  full  swing.  The 
third  man,  standing  on  a  platform  at  the  other  end 
of  the  row,  set  the  remaining  trapeze  swinging,  that 
from  which  the  woman  had  begun  her  flight.  A 
minute  later  she  flung  herself  from  the  platform  and 
the  whole  performance  was  repeated.  I  could  hear 
Ascher  panting  with  excitement  beside  me. 

"A  horribly  risky  business,"  I  said,  "but  wonderful, 
really  wonderful.  If  one  of  those  swings  were  a 

fraction  late But  of  course  the  whole  thing  is 

exactly  calculated." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Ascher,  "calculated,  of  course.  It's 
a  matter  of  mathematics  and  accurate  timing  of  effort. 
But  if  it  were  worked  by  machinery,  with  lay  figures, 
we  should  think  nothing  of  it.  Somebody  would  do 
sums  and  there  would  be  nothing  particular  in  it.  The 
wonderful  thing  is  the  confidence.  The  timing  of  the 
swings  might  be  all  right ;  but  if  the  woman  hesitated 
for  an  instant,  or  if  one  of  the  men  felt  the  slightest 
doubt  about  the  thing's  coming  off — If  they  didn't 
all  feel  absolutely  sure  that  the  hands  would  be  there 
to  grasp  her  at  just  the  proper  moment —  It's  the 


58  GOSSAMER 

perfect  trust  which  the  people  have,  of  each  other,  of 
the  calculations — Don't  you  see?" 

I  began  to  see  that  Ascher  was  profoundly  moved  by 
this  performance.  I  also  began  to  see  why. 

"It's  like — like  some  things  in  life,"  I  said,  "or  what 
some  things  ought  to  be." 

"It's  like  what  my  life  is,"  said  Ascher.  "Don't 
you  see  it?" 

"I  should  be  rather  stupid  if  I  didn't  see  it,  con- 
sidering the  trouble  you  took  to  explain  the  working 
of  international  credit  to  me  for  two  whole  days." 

"Then  you  do  understand." 

"I  understand,"  I  said,  "that  you  are  that  woman. 
Your  whole  complex  business  is  very  like  hers.  It's 
the  meeting  of  obligations  exactly  at  the  end  of  their 
swing,  the  fact  that  at  the  appointed  moment  there 
will  be  something  there  for  you  to  grasp." 

"And  the  confidence,"  said  Ascher.  "If  the  bankers 
in  any  country  doubt  the  solvency  of  the  bankers  in 
another  country,  if  there's  the  smallest  hesitation,  an 
instant's  pause  of  distrust  or  fear,  then  international 
credit  collapses  and " 

He  flung  out  his  arm  with  a  gesture  of  complete 
hopelessness.  I  realised  that  if  anything  went  wrong 
between  bankers  in  their  trapeze  act  there  would  be  a 
very  ugly  smash. 

"And  in  your  case/'  I  said,  "there's  no  net  under- 
neath." 

The  girl  and  the  three  men  were  safe  on  firm  ground 
again.  They  were  bowing  final  acknowledgments  to 
the  cheering  crowd.  I  suppose  they  do  the  same  thing 


GOSSAMER  59 

every  night  of  their  lives,  but  they  were  still  able  to 
enjoy  the  cheering.  Their  faces  were  flushed  and 
their  eyes  sparkled.  They  are  paid,  perhaps  pretty 
well  paid,  for  risking  their  lives;  but  the  applause  is 
the  larger  part  of  the  reward. 

"Also,"  I  said  to  Ascher,  "nobody  cheers  you.  No- 
body knows  you're  doing  it." 

"No.  Nobody  knows  we're  doing  it.  Nobody  sees 
our  flights  through  the  air  or  guesses  the  supreme 
confidence  we  bankers  must  have  in  each  other.  When 
anybody  does  notice  us  it's — well,  our  friend  Gorman, 
for  instance." 

Gorman  holds  the  theory  that  financial  men,  Ascher 
and  the  rest,  are  bloated  spiders  who  spend  their  time 
and  energy  in  trapping  the  world's  workers,  poor  flies, 
in  gummy  webs. 

"And  of  course  Gorman  is  right  in  a  way,"  said 
Ascher.  "I  can't  help  feeling  that  things  ought  to  be 
better  managed.  But — but  it's  a  pity  that  men  like  him 
don't  understand." 

Ascher  is  wonderful.  I  shall  never  attain  his  mental 
attitude  of  philosophic  tolerance.  I  do  not  feel  that 
Gorman  is  in  any  way  right  about  the  Irish  landlords. 
I  felt,  though  I  like  the  man  personally,  that  he  and 
his  friends  are  deliberately  and  wickedly  perverse. 

"Some  day,"  said  Ascher,  "something  will  go  wrong. 
A  rope  will  break,  or  a  man  will  miss  his  grip,  and 
then  people  in  one  place  will  be  starving,  while  people 
somewhere  else  have  food  all  round  them  rotting  in 
heaps.  Men  will  want  all  sorts  of  things  and  will 
not  be  able  to  get  them,  though  there  will  be  plenty  of 


60  GOSSAMER 

them  in  the  world.  Men  will  think  that  the  laws  of 
nature  have  stopped  working,  that  God  has  gone 
mad.  Hardly  any  one  will  undestand  what  has  hap- 
pened, just  that  one  trapeze  rope  has  broken,  or  that 
one  man  has  lost  his  nerve  and  missed  his  grip." 

"She  might  have  fallen  clear  of  the  net,"  I  said, 
"and  come  down  on  the  audience." 

"When  we  slip  a  trick,"  said  Ascher,  "it  will  be 
on  the  audience  that  we  shall  come  down;  and  the 
audience,  the  people,  will  be  bruised  and  hurt,  won't 
in  the  least  know  what  has  happened." 

Gorman — I  suddenly  recollected  this — had  an  ad- 
venture in  finance  to  propose.  If  Ascher  goes  into 
the  scheme  I  shall  have  an  opportunity  of  watching 
an  interesting  variant  of  the  trapeze  act.  We  shall 
get  the  people  who  own  the  existing  cash  registers 
on  the  swing  and  then  hold  them  to  ransom.  We  shall 
set  our  small  trapeze  oscillating  right  across  their  airy 
path  and  decline  to  remove  it  unless  they  agree  to  part 
with  some  of  the  very  shiniest  of  their  spangles  and 
hand  them  over  to  us  for  our  adornment.  I  won- 
dered how  Ascher,  who  is  so  deeply  moved  by  the 
perils  of  his  own  flights,  would  like  the  idea  of  de- 
stroying other  people's  confidence  and  upsetting  their 
calculations. 

I  looked  down  and  saw  that  Gorman  had  left  his 
seat.  Mrs.  Ascher  had  been  making  good  progress 
with  Tim.  The  boy  was  leaning  towards  her  and 
talking  eagerly.  She  lay  back  in  her  seat  and  smiled 
at  him.  If  she  were  not  interested  in  what  he  was 
saying  she  succeeded  very  well  in  pretending  that  she 


GOSSAMER  61 

was.  All  really  charming  women  practise  this  form 
of  deception  and  all  men  are  taken  in  by  it  if  it  is 
well  done.  Mrs.  Ascher  does  it  very  well. 

When  the  net  was  cleared  away  and  the  trapezes 
slung  up  again  in  the  roof,  we  had  a  musical  ride,  per- 
formed by  six  men  and  six  women  mounted  on  very 
shiny  horses.  Mrs.  Ascher,  of  course,  objected 
strongly  to  the  music.  I  could  see  her  squirming  in 
her  seat.  Ascher  did  not  find  the  thing  interesting  and 
began  to  fidget.  It  was,  indeed,  much  less  suggestive 
than  either  the  learned  horse  or  the  acrobats.  You 
cannot  discover  in  a  musical  ride  any  parable  with  a 
meaning  applicable  to  life.  Nothing  in  the  world  goes 
so  smoothly  and  pleasantly.  There  are  always  risks 
even  when  there  are  no  catastrophes,  and  catastrophes 
are  far  too  common.  Ascher  probably  felt  that  we 
were  out  of  touch  with  humanity.  He  kept  looking 
round,  as  if  seeking  some  way  of  escape. 

Fortunately  Gorman  turned  up  again  very  soon. 

"I  hope  you  won't  mind,"  he  said,  "but  I  have 
changed  the  arrangement  for  supper.  Mrs.  Ascher," 
he  nodded  towards  the  seat  in  which  she  was  writhing, 
"wants  to  meet  the  Galleotti  family.  They're  not  a 
family,  you  know,  and  of  course  they're  not  called 
Galleotti.  The  woman  is  a  Mrs.  Briggs,  and  the 
tallest  of  the  men  is  her  husband.  The  other  two  are 
no  relation.  I  don't  know  their  names,  but  Tim  will 
introduce  us." 

I  looked  at  my  programme  again.  It  was  under 
the  name  of  the  Galleotti  Family  that  the  acrobats 
performed. 


62  GOSSAMER 

"That  will  be  most  interesting,"  I  said. 

"I'm  afraid  it  won't,"  said  Gorman.  "People  like 
that  are  usually  quite  stupid.  However  Mrs.  Ascher 
wanted  it,  so  of  course  I  made  arrangements." 

Mrs.  Ascher  evidently  wanted  to  see  life,  the  most 
real  kind  of  life,  thoroughly.  Not  contented  with 
having  the  doorkeeper  of  a  cheap  circus  sitting,  so  to 
speak,  in  her  lap  all  evening,  she  was  now  bent  on 
sharing  a  meal  with  a  troupe  of  acrobats. 

"It's  rather  unlucky,"  Gorman  went  on,  "but  Mrs. 
Briggs  simply  refuses  to  go  to  the  Plaza.  I  had  a 
table  engaged  there." 

"How  regal  of  you,  Gorman !"  I  said. 

"You'd  have  thought  she'd  have  liked  it,"  he  said. 
"But  she  made  a  fuss  about  clothes.  It's  extraordinary 
how  women  will." 

"You  can  hardly  blame  her,"  I  said;  "I  expect  the 
head  waiter  would  turn  her  out  if  she  appeared  in 
that  get-up  of  hers.  Very  absurd  of  him,  of  course, 
but " 

I  was  not  conscious  that  my  eyes  had  wandered  to 
Mrs.  Ascher's  dress  until  Gorman  winked  at  me.  For- 
tunately Ascher  noticed  neither  my  glance  nor  Gor- 
man's wink.  I  had  not  thought  of  suggesting  that 
Mrs.  Briggs'  stage  costume  was  no  more  daring  than 
what  Mrs.  Ascher  wore. 

"Of  course,"  said  Ascher,  "she  wouldn't  come  to 
supper  in  tights.  It's  her  other  clothes  she's  thinking 
of.  I  daresay  they  are  shabby." 

I  could  understand  what  Mrs.  Briggs  felt.  Gorman 
could  not.  I  do  not  think  that  any  feeling  about  the 


GOSSAMER  63 

shabbiness  of  his  coat  would  make  him  hesitate  about 
dining  with  an  Emperor. 

"I  hope  you  won't  mind,"  he  said  to  Ascher,  "but 
we're  going  to  rather  a  third-rate  little  place." 

Gorman  had  evidently  meant  to  do  us  well  in  the 
way  of  supper,  champagne  probably.  He  may  have 
had  the  idea  that  good  food  would  soften  Ascher's 
heart  towards  the  cash  register  scheme,  but  Mrs. 
Ascher's  insistence  on  meeting  the  Galleotti  family 
spoiled  the  whole  plan.  We  could  not  talk  business 
across  Mrs.  Briggs,  so  it  mattered  little  what  sort  of 
supper  we  had. 

Mrs.  Ascher  left  her  seat  and  joined  us.  Tim,  look- 
ing more  nervous  than  ever,  followed  her  at  a  dis- 
tance. 

"Take  me  out  of  this,"  she  said  to  me.  "Take  me 
out  of  this  or  I  shall  go  mad.  That  dreadful  band !" 

She  spoke  in  a  kind  of  intense  hiss,  and  I  took  her 
out  at  once,  leaving  the  others  to  collect  our  hats  and 
coats  and  to  hunt  up  the  Galleotti  family.  When  we 
reached  the  entrance  hall  she  sank  into  a  seat.  I 
thought  she  was  going  to  faint  and  felt  very  uncom- 
fortable. She  shut  her  eyes  and  murmured  in  a  feeble 
way.  I  bent  down  to  hear  what  she  was  trying  to  say, 
and  was  relieved  to  find  that  she  was  asking  for  a 
cigarette.  I  gave  her  one  at  once.  I  even  lit  it  for 
her  as  she  seemed  very  weak.  It  did  her  good.  When 
she  had  inhaled  three  or  four  mouthfuls  of  smoke  she 
was  able  to  speak  quite  audibly  and  had  forgotten  all 
about  the  horror  of  the  band.  Her  mind  went  back 
to  the  Galleotti  family. 


64  GOSSAMER 

"Did  you  notice  the  muscular  development  of  those 
men?"  she  said.  "I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  more  per- 
fect symmetry,  the  tallest  of  the  three  especially.  The 
play  of  his  shoulder  muscles  was  superb.  I  wonder  if 
he  would  sit  for  me.  I  do  a  little  modelling,  you  know. 
Some  day  I  must  show  you  my  things.  I  did  a  baby 
faun  just  before  I  left  London.  It  isn't  good,  of 
course ;  but  I  can't  help  knowing  that  it  has  feeling." 

The  tallest  Galleotti  probably  has  feeling  too,  of  a 
different  kind.  I  expect  he  would  have  refused  Gor- 
man's invitation  to  supper  if  he  had  known  that  he 
was  invited  in  order  to  give  Mrs.  Ascher  an  oppor- 
tunity of  studying  his  muscular  development  at  close 
quarters.  Perhaps  he  had  some  idea  that  he  was  to  be 
on  show  and  did  not  like  it.  Instead  of  wearing  his 
spangled  tights  he  came  to  supper  in  a  very  ill-fitting 
tweed  suit,  which  completely  concealed  his  symmetry. 
The  other  two  men  were  equally  inconsiderate.  Mrs. 
Briggs  wore  a  rusty  black  skirt  and  a  somewhat  soiled 
blouse.  Mrs.  Ascher  was  disappointed. 

She  showed  her  annoyance  by  ignoring  the  Gal- 
leotti Family.  This  was  rather  hard  on  Gorman,  who 
had  invited  the  family  solely  to  please  her  and  then 
found  that  she  would  not  speak  to  them.  She  took  a 
chair  in  a  corner  next  the  wall,  and  beckoned  to  Tim 
Gorman  to  sit  beside  her.  Tim  was  miserably  fright- 
ened and  dodged  about  behind  the  tallest  of  the  Gal- 
leottis  to  avoid  her  eye.  I  expect  her  manner  when 
the  band  was  playing  had  terrified  him.  I  felt  cer- 
tain that  I  should  be  snubbed,  but,  to  avoid  general 
awkwardness,  I  took  the  chair  beside  Mrs.  Ascher. 


GOSSAMER  65 

I  tried  to  cheer  her  up  a  little. 

"Just  think,"  I  whispered,  "if  Mr.  Briggs  looks  so 
commonplace  in  every-day  clothes  other  men,  even  I 
perhaps,  might  be  as  splendid  as  he  was  if  we  put  on 
spangled  tights." 

I  had  to  whisper  because  Mr.  Briggs  was  near  me, 
and  I  did  not  want  to  hurt  his  feelings.  Mrs.  Ascher 
may  not  have  heard  me.  She  certainly  did  not  an- 
swer ;  I  went  on : 

"Thus  there  may  be  far  more  beauty  in  the  world 
than  we  suspect.  We  may  be  meeting  men  every  day 
who  have  the  figures  of  Greek  gods  underneath  their 
absurd  coats.  It's  a  most  consoling  thought." 

It  did  not  console  Mrs.  Ascher  in  the  least;  but  I 
thought  a  little  more  of  it  might  be  good  for  her. 

"In  the  same  way,"  I  said,  "heroic  hearts  may  be 
beating  under  the  trappings  of  conventionality  and 
great  souls  may " 

I  meant  to  work  the  idea  out ;  but  Mrs.  Ascher  cut 
me  short  by  saying  that  she  had  a  headache.  There 
was  every  excuse  for  her.  She  wanted  to  see  the  mus- 
cles of  Mr.  Briggs'  shoulders  and  she  wanted  Tim 
Gorman  to  sit  beside  her.  Double  disappointments  of 
this  kind  often  bring  on  the  most  violent  headaches. 

The  supper  party  was  a  failure.  The  Galleotti  men 
would  talk  freely  only  to  Tim  Gorman  and  relapsed 
into  gaping  silence  when  Ascher  spoke  to  them.  Mrs. 
Briggs  would  not  speak  at  all,  until  Gorman,  who  has 
the  finest  social  talent  of  any  man  I  ever  met,  talked 
to  her  about  her  baby.  On  that  subject  she  actually 
chattered  to  the  disgust  of  Mrs.  Ascher,  who  has  no 


66  GOSSAMER 

children  herself  and  regards  women  who  have  as  her 
personal  enemies.  We  had  sausages  and  mashed  pota- 
toes to  eat.  We  drank  beer.  Even  Ascher  drank  a 
little  beer,  though  I  know  he  hated  it. 

Not  a  word  was  said  about  Tim's  cash  register  until 
the  Galleotti  family  went  away  and  the  party  broke  up. 
Then  Gorman  suddenly  sprang  the  subject  on  Ascher. 
Mrs.  Ascher,  having  snubbed  me  with  her  headache 
story,  at  last  captured  Tim  Gorman.  She  spoke  quite 
kindly  to  him  and  tried  to  teach  him  to  help  her  on 
with  her  cloak,  a  garment  which  Tim  was  at  first 
afraid  to  touch.  I  heard  her,  when  Tim  was  at  last 
holding  the  cloak,  asking  him  to  sit  for  her  in  her 
studio.  Tim  has  no  very  noticeable  physical  develop- 
ment, but  he  has  very  beautiful  eyes.  Mrs.  Ascher 
may  have  wanted  him  as  a  model  for  a  figure  of  Sir 
Galahad.  Her  interest  in  the  boy  gave  us  a  chance  of 
talking  business. 

It  was  not  a  chance  that  I  should  have  used  if  I 
had  been  Gorman.  It  seemed  to  me  foolish  to  lay  a 
complicated  scheme  before  a  man  who  has  just  been 
severely  tried  in  temper  by  unaccustomed  kinds  of 
food  and  drink.  However,  Gorman  set  out  the  case  of 
the  cash  register  in  a  few  words.  He  did  not  go  into 
details,  and  I  do  not  know  whether  Ascher  understood 
what  was  expected  of  him.  He  invited  Gorman  to 
bring  Tim  and  the  machine  to  the  bank  next  day  and 
promised  to  look  into  the  matter.  Gorman,  still  under 
the  delusion  that  influence  matters,  insisted  on  my  be- 
ing one  of  the  party.  He  described  me  as  a  share- 
holder in  the  company.  Ascher  said  he  would  be  glad 


GOSSAMER  67 

to  see  me,  too,  next  day.  My  impression  is  that  he 
would  have  agreed  to  receive  the  whole  circus  com- 
pany rather  than  stand  any  longer  in  that  grimy  res- 
taurant talking  to  Gorman. 


CHAPTER  V. 

GORMAN  called  for  me  at  my  hotel  next  morning 
at  9  o'clock. 

"Time  to  start,"  he  said,  "if  we're  to  keep  our  ap- 
pointment with  Ascher." 

I  was  still  at  breakfast  and  did  not  want  to  start  till 
I  had  finished. 

"Do  you  think,"  I  said,  "that  it's  wise  to  tackle  him 
quite  so  early?  Most  men's  tempers  improve  as  the 
day  goes  on, — up  to  a  certain  point,  not  right  into  the 
evening.  Now  I  should  say  that  noon  would  be  the 
very  best  hour  for  business  of  our  kind." 

But  Gorman  is  very  severe  when  he  is  doing  busi- 
ness. He  took  no  notice  whatever  of  my  suggestion. 
He  pulled  a  long  envelope  out  of  his  pocket  and  pre- 
sented it  to  me.  It  contained  a  nicely  printed  certifi- 
cate, which  assured  me  that  I  was  the  owner  of  one 
thousand  ordinary  shares  in  the  New  Excelsior  Cash 
Register  Company,  Ltd.  The  face  value  of  the  shares 
was  five  dollars  each. 

"I  did  not  mean  to  take  quite  so  many  shares,"  I 
said.  "However,  I  don't  mind.  If  you  will  work  out 
the  rate  of  exchange  while  I  finish  my  coffee,  I'll  give 
you  an  English  cheque  for  the  amount." 

Gorman  laughed  at  the  proposal. 

"You  needn't  pay  anything,"  he  said.  "All  we  want 
68 


GOSSAMER  69 

from  you  is  your  name  on  our  list  of  directors  and 
your  influence  with  Ascher.  Those  shares  will  be 
worth  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars  each  at  least  when 
we  begin  our  squeeze  and  you  don't  run  the  slightest 
risk  of  losing  anything." 

The  owning  of  shares  of  this  kind  seems  to  me  the 
easiest  way  there  is  of  making  money.  I  thanked 
Gorman  effusively  and  pocketed  the  certificate. 

We  went  down  town  by  the  elevated  railway,  and 
got  out  at  Rector  Street.  Tim  Gorman  met  us  at  the 
bottom  of  the  steps  which  lead  to  the  station.  He  was 
carrying  his  cash  register  in  his  arms.  We  hurried 
across  Broadway  and  passed  through  the  doors  of  a 
huge  sky-scraper  building.  I  thought  we  were  enter- 
ing Ascher's  office.  We  were  not.  We  were  taking  a 
short  cut  through  a  kind  of  arcade  like  one  of  the 
covered  shopping  ways  which  one  sees  in  some  Eng- 
lish towns,  especially  in  Birmingham.  There  was  a 
large  number  of  little  shops  in  it,  luncheon  places,  bar- 
bers' shops,  newspaper  stalls,  tobacconists'  stalls,  flor- 
ists' stalls,  and  sweet  shops,  which  displayed  an  enor- 
mous variety  of  candies.  We  were  in  the  very  centre 
of  the  business  part  of  the  city,  a  part  to  which  women 
hardly  ever  go,  unless  they  are  typists  or  manicure 
girls.  Above  our  heads  were  offices,  tiers  and  tiers  of 
them.  I  wondered  why  there  were  so  many  florists' 
shops  and  sweet  shops.  The  American  business  man 
must,  I  imagine,  have  a  gentle  and  childlike  heart.  No 
one  who  has  lost  his  first  innocence  would  require  such 
a  supply  of  flowers  and  chocolate  at  his  office  door. 

There  were  lifts  on  each  side  of  this  arcade,  dozens 


70  GOSSAMER 

of  them,  in  cages.  Some  were  labelled  "Express"  and 
warned  passengers  that  they  would  make  no  stop  be- 
fore the  eleventh  floor.  I  should  have  liked  very  much 
to  make  a  journey  in  an  express  lift,  and  I  hoped  that 
Ascher's  office  might  turn  out  to  be  on  the  25th  or 
perhaps  the  3Oth  floor  of  the  building.  I  was  disap- 
pointed. Gorman  hurried  us  on. 

We  emerged  into  the  open  air  and  found  ourselves 
in  a  narrow,  crooked  street  along  which  men  were  hur- 
rying in  great  numbers  and  at  high  speed.  On  both 
sides  of  it  were  enormously  tall  houses.  There  was 
just  one  building,  right  opposite  to  us,  which  was  of 
English  height.  It  was  not  in  the  least  English  in 
any  other  way.  It  was  white  and  very  dignified.  Its 
lines  were  severely  classical.  It  had  tall,  narrow  win- 
dows and  a  door  which  somehow  reminded  me  of 
portraits  of  the  first  Duke  of  Wellington.  The  archi- 
tect may  perhaps  have  been  thinking  of  the  great 
soldier's  nose.  Gorman  walked  straight  up  to  that 
door. 

"Here  we  are,"  he  said. 

"Surely,"  I  said,  "this  Greek  temple  can't  be 
Ascher's  office  ?" 

"This  is  the  exact  spot." 

"Tell  me,"  I  said,  "do  we  take  off  our  shoes  at  the 
threshold  or  say  grace,  or  perform  some  kind  of  cere- 
monial lustration  ?  We  can't  go  in  just  as  we  are." 

Gorman  did  not  answer  me.  He  went  through  the 
door,  the  terribly  impressive  door,  without  even  bow- 
ing. There  was  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  follow  him. 
Tim  followed  me,  nursing  his  cash  register  as  if  it 


GOSSAMER  71 

had  been  a  baby,  a  very  heavy  and  awkwardly  shaped 
baby. 

We  passed  into  the  outer  office.  At  the  first  glance 
it  seemed  to  me  like  a  very  orderly  town.  It  was  built 
over  with  small  houses  of  polished  mahogany  and 
plate  glass.  Through  the  plate-glass  fronts — they  were 
more  than  windows — I  could  see  the  furniture  of  the 
houses,  rolltop  desks  of  mahogany,  broad  mahogany 
tables,  chairs  and  high  stools.  All  the  mahogany  was 
very  highly  polished.  The  citizens  of  this  town  flitted 
from  one  glass-fronted  house  to  another.  They  met 
in  narrow  streets  and  spoke  to  each  other  with  grave 
dignity.  They  spoke  in  four  languages,  and  English 
was  the  one  used  least.  From  the  remoter  parts  of 
the  place,  the  slums,  if  such  a  polished  town  has  slums, 
came  the  sound  of  typewriters  worked  with  extreme 
rapidity.  The  manual  labourers,  in  this  as  in  every 
civilised  community,  are  kept  out  of  sight.  Only  the 
sound  of  their  toil  is  allowed  to  remind  the  other 
classes  of  their  happier  lot.  Some  of  the  citizens — I 
took  them  to  be  men  of  very  high  standing,  privy  coun- 
sellors or  magistrates — held  cigars  in  their  mouths  as 
they  walked  about.  These  cigars  are  badges  of  office, 
like  the  stripes  on  soldiers'  coats.  No  one  was  actually 
smoking. 

Gorman  was  our  spokesman.  He  explained  who  we 
were  and  what  we  wanted.  We  were  handed  over  to 
a  clerk.  I  suppose  he  was  a  clerk,  but  to  me  he  seemed 
a  gentleman  in  waiting  of  some  mysterious  monarch, 
or — my  feeling  wavered— one  of  the  inferior  priests  of 
a  strange  cult.  He  led  us  through  doors  into  a  large 


72  GOSSAMER 

room,  impressively  empty  and  silent.  There  for  a  min- 
ute we  left  while  he  tapped  reverently  at  another  door. 
The  supreme  moment  arrived.  We  passed  into  the  in- 
most shrine  where  Ascher  sat.  My  spirit  quailed. 

Every  great  profession  has  its  own  way  of  hypnotis- 
ing the  souls  of  simple  men.  Indeed  I  think  that  pro- 
fessions are  accounted  great  in  accordance  with  their 
power  of  impressing  on  the  world  a  sense  of  their 
mysteriousness.  Ecclesiastics,  those  of  them  who  know 
their  business,  build  altars  in  dim  recesses  of  vast 
buildings,  light  them  with  flickering  tapers,  and  fill 
the  air  with  clouds  of  stupefying  incense  smoke.  Sur- 
geons and  dentists  allow  us  fleeting  glimpses  of  bright 
steel  instruments,  very  strangely  shaped.  It  is  con- 
trived that  we  see  them  in  a  cold,  clear  light,  the  light 
of  scientific  relentlessness.  There  is  a  suggestion  of 
torture,  not  brutal  but  exquisitely  refined,  of  perfected 
pain,  achieved  by  the  stimulation  of  recondite  nerves 
of  very  delicate  sensibility.  Lawyers  wear  archaic 
robes  and  use  a  strange  language  in  their  mysteries, 
conveying  to  us  a  belief  that  Justice  is  an  ancient  witch 
whose  evil  eye  can  be  averted  only  by  the  incantation 
and  grotesque  posturing  of  her  initiate  priests.  But 
I  am  not  sure  that  financiers  do  not  understand  the 
art  of  hypnotic  suggestion  best  of  all.  I  have  wor- 
shipped in  cathedrals,  sweated  cold  in  operating  thea- 
tres, trembled  before  judges,  but  there  is  something 
about  large  surfaces  of  polished  mahogany  and  very 
soft,  dimly  coloured  turkey  carpets  which  quells  my 
feeble  spirit  still  more  completely. 

There  was  a  heavy  deadening  silence  in  Ascher's 


GOSSAMER  73 

private  office,  and  our  voices,  when  they  broke  it, 
sounded  like  the  cheeping  of  ghosts.  There  was  an 
odour  more  oppressive  than  the  smell  of  incense  or 
the  penetrating  fumes  of  iodoform.  Some  one,  many 
hours  before,  must  have  smoked  a  very  good  cigar  in 
the  room,  and  the  scent  of  it  lingered.  The  doors  of 
huge  safes  must  have  been  opened.  From  the  recesses 
of  these  steel  chambers  had  oozed  air  which  had  lain 
stagnant  and  lifeless  round  piles  of  gold  bonds  and 
rich  securities  for  years  and  years.  The  faint,  sickly 
odour  of  sealing  wax  must  have  been  distilled  from 
immense  sticks  of  that  substance  and  sprinkled  over- 
night upon  the  carpets  and  leather-seated  chairs.  I 
breathed  and  my  very  limbs  felt  numb. 

But  certain  souls  are  proof  against  the  subtlest 
forms  of  hypnotism.  Gorman  had  escaped  from  the 
influence  of  his  church.  He  would  flip  a  sterilised 
lancet  across  a  glass  slab  with  his  finger  and  laugh  in 
the  face  of  the  surgeon  who  owned  it.  He  walked 
with  buoyant  confidence  into  Ascher's  office.  My  case 
was  different.  I  stood  and  then  sat,  the  victim  of  a 
partial  anaesthetic.  I  saw  and  heard  dimly  as  if  in  a 
dream,  or  through  a  mist.  Poor  Tim  trembled  as  he 
laid  his  cash  register  down  on  one  of  Ascher's  mahog- 
any tables.  I  could  hear  the  keys  and  bars  of  the  ma- 
chine rattling  together  while  he  handled  it. 

Ascher  spoke  through  a  telephone  receiver  which 
stood  at  his  elbow.  Another  man  entered  the  room. 
We  all  shook  hands  with  him.  He  was  Stutz,  the 
New  York  partner  of  the  firm.  Then  Ascher  spoke 
through  the  receiver  again,  and  another  man  came  in, 


74  GOSSAMER 

With  him  we  did  not  shake  hands,  but  he  bowed  to 
us  and  we  to  him.  He  was  Mr.  Mildmay.  He  stood 
near  the  door,  waiting  for  orders. 

Tim  Gorman  unpacked  his  machine  and  exhibited 
it.  I  have  not  the  remotest  idea  what  its  peculiar  vir- 
tues are,  but  Tim  believed  in  them.  His  nervousness 
seemed  to  pass  away  from  him  as  he  spoke  about 
his  invention  with  simple-minded  enthusiasm.  Love 
casts  out  fear,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  Tim 
loved  every  screw  and  lever  of  the  complicated 
mechanism. 

Mr.  Mildmay  left  his  place  near  the  door  and  came 
forward.  His  deferential  manner  dropped  off  from 
him.  He  revealed  himself  as  a  mechanical  expert  with 
a  special  knowledge  of  cash  registers.  He  and  Tim 
Gorman  pressed  keys,  twisted  handles  and  bent  to- 
gether in  absorbed  contemplation  over  some  singular 
feature  of  the  machine's  organism.  Gorman,  the  elder 
brother,  watched  them  with  a  confident  smile.  Ascher 
and  Stutz  sat  gravely  silent.  They  waited  Mildmay's 
opinion.  He  was  the  man  of  the  moment.  A  few 
minutes  before  he  had  bowed  respectfully  to  Ascher. 
In  half  an  hour  he  would  be  bowing  respectfully  to 
Ascher  again.  Just  then,  while  he  handled  Tim  Gor- 
man's machine,  he  was  Ascher's  master,  and  mine  of 
course.  They  were  all  my  masters. 

The  inspection  of  the  machine  was  finished  at  last. 
Tim  stood  flushed  and  triumphant.  The  child  of  his 
ingenious  brain  had  survived  the  tests  of  an  expert. 
Mildmay  turned  to  Ascher  and  bowed  again. 

"It's  a  wonderful  invention,"  he  said.     "I  see  no 


GOSSAMER  75 

reason  why  it  should  not  be  a  commercial  success." 

"Perhaps,  Mr.  Mildmay,"  said  Ascher,  "you  will 
study  the  subject  further  and  submit  a  report  to  us 
in  writing." 

Mr.  Mildmay  left  the  room.  I  had  no  doubt  that  he 
would  report  enthusiastically  on  the  new  cash  register. 
Mechanical  experts  do  not,  I  suppose,  write  poetry, 
but  there  was  without  doubt  a  lyric  in  Mildmay's 
heart  as  he  left  the  room.  Tim  packed  the  thing  up 
again.  Now  that  the  mechanical  part  of  the  business 
was  over,  he  relapsed  into  shy  silence  in  a  corner.  His 
brother  took  out  a  cigarette  and  lit  it.  I  would  not 
have  ventured  to  light  a  cigarette  in  that  sanctuary  for 
a  hundred  pounds.  But  Gorman  is  entirely  without 
reverence. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "there's  no  doubt  about  the  value 
of  the  invention." 

"We  shall  wait  for  Mr.  Mildmay's  report,"  said 
Ascher,  "before  we  come  to  any  decision;  but  in  the 
meanwhile  we  should  like  to  hear  any  proposal  you 
have  to  make." 

"Yes,"  said  Stutz,  "your  proposals.  We  are  pre- 
pared to  listen  to  them." 

Stutz  seemed  to  me  to  speak  English  with  difficulty. 
His  native  language  was  perhaps  German,  perhaps  He- 
brew or  Yiddish  or  whatever  the  language  is  which 
modern  Jews  speak  in  private  life. 

"The  matter  is  simple  enough,"  said  Gorman.  "Our 
machine  will  drive  any  other  out  of  the  market. 
There's  no  possibility  of  competition.  The  thing  is 
simply  a  dead  cert.  It  can't  help  going." 


76  GOSSAMER 

"A  large  capital  would  be  required,"  said  Stutz,  "a 
very  large  capital." 

"Yes,"  said  Gorman,  "a  very  large  capital,  much 
larger  than  I  should  care  to  see  invested  in  the  thing. 
I  may  as  well  be  quite  frank  with  you  gentlemen.  At 
present  the  patents  of  my  brother's  invention  are 
owned  by  a  small  company  in  which  I  am  the  chief 
shareholder.  If  we  ask  the  public  for  a  million  dol- 
lars and  get  them — I  don't  say  we  can't  get  them.  We 
may.  But  if  we  do  I  shall  be  a  very  small  shareholder. 
I  shall  get  5  per  cent,  or  6  per  cent,  or  perhaps  10  per 
cent,  on  my  money.  Now  I  want  more  than  that.  I'm 
speaking  quite  frankly,  you  see.  I  believe  in  frank- 
ness." 

He  looked  at  Ascher  for  approval.  Stutz  bowed, 
with  an  impassive  face.  On  Ascher's  lips  there  was 
the  ghost  of  a  mournful  little  smile.  I  somehow 
gathered  that  he  had  come  across  frankness  like  Gor- 
man's before  and  had  not  altogether  liked  it.  Gorman 
went  on.  He  explained,  as  he  had  explained  to  me, 
the  plan  he  had  made  for  forcing  the  owners  of  exist- 
ing cash  registers  to  buy  his  company  out.  At  last  he 
got  to  the  central,  the  vitally  important  point. 

"All  we  want,  gentlemen,  is  your  backing.  You 
needn't  put  down  any  money.  Your  names  will  be 
enough.  I  will  make  over  to  you  such  bonus  shares 
as  may  be  agreed  upon.  The  only  risk  we  run  is  law- 
suits about  our  patent  rights.  You  understand  how 
that  game  is  worked.  I  needn't  explain." 

It  was  evident  that  both  Ascher  and  Stutz  under- 
stood that  game  thoroughly.  It  was  also  plain  to  me, 


GOSSAMER  77 

though  not,  I  think,  to  Gorman,  that  it  was  a  game 
which  neither  one  nor  other  of  them  would  be  willing 
to  play. 

"But  if  we  have  your  names,"  said  Gorman,  "that 
game's  off.  It  simply  wouldn't  pay.  I  don't  want  to 
flatter  you,  gentlemen,  but  there  isn't  a  firm  in  the 
world  that  would  care  to  start  feeing  lawyers  in  com- 
petition with  Ascher  Stutz  &  Co." 

"That  is  so,"  said  Stutz. 

"And  your  proposal  ?"  said  Ascher. 

"If  they  can't  crush  us,"  said  Gorman,  "and  they 
can't  if  you're  behind  us,  they  must  buy  us.  I  need 
scarcely  say  that  your  share  in  the  profits  will  be  satis- 
factory to  you.  Sir  James  Digby  is  one  of  our  direc- 
tors. There  are  only  four  others,  and  three  of  them 
scarcely  count.  There  won't  be  many  of  us  to  divide 
what  we  get." 

I  felt  that  my  time  had  come  to  speak.  If  I  was  to 
justify  Gorman's  confidence  in  me  as  an  "influence," 
I  must  say  something.  Besides  Ascher  was  looking  at 
me  inquiringly. 

"I'm  not  a  business  man,"  I  said,  "and  I'm  afraid 
that  my  opinion  isn't  worth  much,  but  I  think " 

I  hesitated.  Ascher's  eyes  were  fixed  on  me,  and 
there  was  a  curiously  wistful  expression  in  them.  I 
could  not  understand  what  he  wanted  me  to  say. 

"I  think,"  I  said,  "that  Gorman's  plan  sounds  feasi- 
ble, that  it  ought  to  work." 

"But  your  own  opinion  of  it  ?"  said  Ascher. 

He  spoke  with  a  certain  gentle  insistency.  I  could 
not  very  well  avoid  making  some  answer. 


78  GOSSAMER 

"We  are  able  to  judge  for  ourselves,"  he  said, 
"whether  it  will  work.  But  the  plan  itself — what  do 
you  think  of  it  ?" 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I'm  a  modern  man.  I  have  accepted 
all  the  ideas  and  standards  of  my  time  and  generation. 
I  can  hardly  give  you  an  opinion  that  I  could  call  my 
own,  but  if  my  father's  opinion  would  be  of  any  use 

to  you He  was  an  old-fashioned  gentleman,  with 

all  the  rather  obsolete  ideas  about  honour  which  those 
people  had." 

"He's  dead,  isn't  he?"  said  Gorman. 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  said.  "He's  been  dead  for  fifteen  years. 
Still  I'm  sure  I  could  tell  you  what  he'd  have  said 
about  this." 

"I  do  not  think,"  said  Stutz,  "that  we  need  consider^ 
the  opinion  of  Sir  James  Digby's  father,  who  has  been 
dead  for  fifteen  years." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,"  I  said.  "It  would  be  out 
of  date,  hopelessly." 

"But  your  own  opinion?"  said  Ascher,  still  mildly 
insistent. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I've  been  robbed  of  my  property — 
land  in  Ireland,  Mr.  Stutz — by  Gorman  and  his  friends. 
Everybody  says  that  they  were  quite  right  and  that  I 
ought  not  to  have  objected;  so  I  suppose  robbery  must 
be  a  proper  thing  according  to  our  contemporary 
ethics." 

"And  that  is  your  opinion  of  the  scheme?"  said 
Ascher. 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "I  hope  I've  made  myself  clear.  I 
think  we  are  justified  in  pillaging  when  we  can." 


GOSSAMER  79 

"You  Irish,"  said  Ascher,  "with  your  intellects  of 
steel,  your  delight  in  paradox  and  your  reckless  logic !" 

Stutz  was  not  interested  in  the  peculiarities  of  the 
Irish  mind.  He  went  back  to  the  main  point  with  a 
directness  which  I  admired. 

"This  is  not,"  he  said,  "the  kind  of  business  we  care 
to  do." 

"Mr.  Gorman,"  said  Ascher,  "we  shall  wait  for  Mr. 
Mildmay's  report  on  your  brother's  invention.  If  it 
turns  out  to  be  favourable,  as  I  confidently  expect,  we 
may  have  a  proposal  to  lay  before  you.  Our  firm  can- 
not, you  will  understand,  take  shares  in  your  company. 
That  is  not  a  bank's  business.  But  I  myself,  in  my 
private  capacity,  will  consider  the  matter.  So  will 
Mr.  Stutz.  It  may  be  possible  to  arrange  that  your 
brother's  machine  shall  be  put  on  the  market." 

"But  your  proposal,"  said  Stutz  obstinately.  "It  is 
not  the  kind  of  business  we  undertake." 

The  interview  was  plainly  at  an  end.  We  rose  and 
left  the  room. 

Tim  Gorman  did  not  understand,  perhaps  did  not 
hear,  a  word  of  what  was  said.  He  followed  us  out 
of  the  office  nursing  his  machine  and  plainly  in  high 
delight.  Curiously  enough,  the  elder  Gorman  seemed 
equally  pleased. 

"We've  got  them,"  he  said  when  we  reached  the 
street.  "We've  got  Ascher,  Stutz  &  Co  quite  safe.  I 
don't  see  what's  to  stop  us  now." 

My  own  impression  was  that  both  Ascher  &  Stutz 
had  definitely  refused  to  entertain  our  proposal  or  fall 
in  with  our  plans.  I  said  so  to  Gorman. 


8o  GOSSAMER 

"Not  at  all,"  he  said.  "You  don't  understand  busi- 
ness or  business  men.  Ascher  and  Stutz  are  very  big 
bugs,  very  big  indeed,  and  they  have  to  keep  up  ap- 
pearances. It  wouldn't  do  for  them  to  admit  to  you 
and  me,  or  even  to  each  other,  that  they  were  out  for 
what  they  could  get  from  the  old  company.  They 
have  to  keep  up  the  pretence  that  they  mean  legitimate 
business.  That's  the  way  these  things  are  always 
worked.  But  you'll  find  that  they  won't  object  to 
pocketing  their  cheques  when  the  time  comes  for 
smashing  up  Tim's  machine  and  suppressing  his 
patents." 

I  turned,  when  I  reached  the  far  side  of  the  street, 
to  take  another  look  at  Ascher's  office.  I  was  struck 
again  by  the  purity  of  line  and  the  severe  simplicity 
of  the  building.  Two  thousand  years  ago  men  would 
have  had  a  statue  of  Pallas  Athene  in  it. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

F  SPENT  a  very  pleasant  fortnight  in  New  York 
A  among  people  entirely  unconnected  with  the 
Aschers  or  Gorman.  I  was  kept  busy  dining,  lunch- 
ing, going  to  the  theatre,  driving  here  and  there  in 
motor  cars,  and  enjoying  the  society  of  some  of  the 
least  conventional  and  most  brilliant  women  in  the 
world.  I  only  found  time  to  call  on  the  Aschers  once 
and  then  did  not  see  either  of  them.  They  were  stop- 
ping in  the  Ritz-Carlton  Hotel,  and  the  young  man  in 
the  office  told  me  that  Mrs.  Ascher  spent  the  whole 
of  every  day  in  her  studio.  Her  devotion  to  art  was 
evidently  very  great.  She  could  not  manage  to  spend 
a  holiday  in  New  York  without  hiring  a  studio.  I  in- 
quired whether  any  members  of  the  Galleotti  family 
were  sitting  for  her,  but  the  hotel  clerk  did  not  know 
that.  He  told  me,  however,  that  Mr.  Ascher  was  in 
Washington.  Gorman  always  says  that  the  strings  of 
government  in  modern  states  are  pulled  by  financiers. 
Ascher  was  probably  chucking  at  those  which  are 
fastened  to  the  arms  and  legs  of  the  President  of  the 
United  States,  with  a  view  to  making  that  potentate 
dance  threateningly  in  the  direction  of  Mexico.  I  am 
sure  that  Ascher  does  this  sort  of  thing  very  nicely 
and  kindly  if  indeed  he  does  it  at  all.  He  would  not 

81 


82  GOSSAMER 

willingly  destroy  the  self-respect  even  of  a  marionette. 

Of  Gorman  I  saw  nothing  more  before  I  left  New 
York.  I  think  he  went  off  to  Detroit  almost  imme- 
diately after  our  interview  with  Ascher  and  Stutz. 
Gorman  is  not  exactly  the  man  to  put  his  public  duties 
before  his  private  interests,  but  I  am  sure  the  public 
duties  always  come  in  a  close  second.  Having  set- 
tled, or  thought  he  had  settled,  the  affair  of  the  cash 
register,  he  immediately  turned  his  attention  to  that 
wealthy  motor  man  in  Detroit  from  whom  he  meant 
to  get  a  subscription.  The  future  of  the  Irish  Party 
possibly,  its  comforts  probably,  depended  on  the  suc- 
cess of  Gorman's  mission.  And  a  party  never  deserved 
comfort  more.  The  Home  Rule  Bill  was  almost  passed 
for  the  third  and  last  time.  Nothing  stood  between 
Ireland  and  the  realisation  of  Gorman's  hopes  for  her 
except  the  obstinate  perversity  of  the  Ulster  men.  A 
few  more  subscriptions,  generous  subscriptions,  and 
that  would  be  overcome. 

After  enjoying  myself  in  New  York  for  a  fortnight 
I  went  to  Canada.  I  did  not  gather  much  information 
about  the  companies  in  which  I  was  interested.  But  I 
learned  a  good  deal  about  Canadian  politics.  The  men 
who  play  that  game  out  there  are  extraordinarily  clear- 
sighted and  honest.  They  frankly  express  lower  opin- 
ions of  each  other  than  the  politicians  of  any  other 
country  would  dare  to  hold  of  the  players  in  their  par- 
ticular fields.  In  the  end  the  general  frankness  be- 
came monotonous  and  I  tired  of  Canada.  I  went  back 
to  New  York,  hoping  to  pick  up  some  one  there  who 
would  travel  home  with  me  by  way  of  the  West  In- 


GOSSAMER  83 

dies,  islands  which  I  had  never  seen.  I  thought  it 
possible  that  I  might  persuade  the  Aschers,  if  they 
were  still  in  New  York,  to  make  the  tour  with  me. 
There  was  just  a  chance  that  I  might  come  across  Gor- 
man again  and  that  he  would  be  taken  with  the  idea 
of  preaching  the  doctrines  of  Irish  nationalism  in  Ja- 
maica. I  called  on  the  Aschers  twice  and  missed  them 
both  times.  But  the  second  visit  was  not  fruitless. 
Mrs.  Ascher  rang  me  up  on  the  telephone  and  asked 
me  to  go  to  see  her  in  her  studio.  She  said  that  she 
particularly  wanted  to  see  me  and  had  something  very 
important  to  say. 

I  obeyed  the  summons,  of  course.  I  found  Mrs. 
Ascher  clad  in  a  long,  pale-blue  pinafore.  Over-all  is, 
I  believe,  the  proper  name  for  the  garment.  But  it 
looked  to  me  like  a  child's  pinafore,  greatly  enlarged. 
It  completely  covered  all  her  other  clothes  in  front  and 
almost  completely  covered  them  behind.  I  recognised 
it  as  the  sort  of  thing  a  really  earnest  artist  would 
wear  while  working.  Her  hair  was  hanging  in  loops 
and  wisps  about  her  head,  a  disorder  which  was  effect- 
ive with  dark-red  hair.  Her  hands  were  damp  and 
dirty.  Her  face  was  smudged  here  and  there,  as  if,  in 
moments  of  artistic  travail,  she  had  pressed  her  muddy 
fingers  against  her  forehead  and  chin.  The  room  had 
very  little  furniture  in  it,  but  there  were  several  tables, 
large  and  small.  On  these  stood  what  seemed  to  me 
shapeless  lumps  of  various  sizes,  swathed  in  damp 
rags.  They  reminded  me  a  little  of  the  shrouded  ob- 
jects on  the  tables  of  dissecting  rooms  after  the  stu- 
dents have  gone  home.  There  was  the  same  sugges- 


84  GOSSAMER 

tion  of  mutilated  human  forms.  Mrs.  Ascher  saw  me 
looking  at  them. 

"Some  of  my  little  things,"  she  said,  "but  nothing 
finished.  I  don't  know  why  it  is,  but  here  in  New 
York  I  find  it  very  difficult  to  finish  anything." 

"You're  not  singular  in  that,"  I  said.  "The  New 
York  people  themselves  suffer  in  exactly  the  same 
way.  There  isn't  a  street  in  their  city  that  they've 
finished  or  ever  will  finish.  If  anything  begins  to  look 
like  completion  they  smash  it  up  at  once  and  start 
fresh.  It  must  be  something  in  the  air,  a  restless- 
ness, a  desire  of  the  perfection  which  can  never  be 
realised." 

Mrs.  Ascher  very  carefully  unwrapped  a  succession 
of  damp  rags  from  one  of  the  largest  of  her  lumps 
which  was  standing  on  a  table  by  itself.  I  have,  since 
then,  seen  nurses  unwrapping  the  bandages  from  the 
wounded  limbs  of  men.  The  way  they  did  it  always 
reminded  me  of  Mrs.  Ascher.  The  removal  of  the 
last  bandage  revealed  to  me  a  figure  about  eighteen 
inches  high  of  a  girl  who  seemed  to  me  to  be  stretch- 
ing herself  after  getting  out  of  bed  before  stepping 
into  her  bath. 

"Psyche,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher. 

I  had  to  show  my  admiration  in  some  way.  The 
proper  thing,  I  believe,  when  shown  a  statue  by  a 
sculptor,  is  to  stroke  it  with  your  fingers  and  murmur, 
"Ah !"  I  was  afraid  to  stroke  Psyche  because  she  was 
certainly  wet  and  probably  soft.  A  touch  might  have 
dinted  her,  made  a  dimple  in  a  wrong  place.  I  dared 
not  risk  it.  It  became  all  the  more  necessary  to  speak. 


GOSSAMER  85 

The  first  thing  I  thought  of  was  a  quotation  from  Ed- 
gar Allan  Poe. 

"I  pacified  Psyche  and  kissed  her,"  I  murmured, 
"and  tempted  her  out  of  the  gloom." 

I  said  the  lines  in  what  I  am  convinced  is  the  proper 
way,  as  if  they  were  forced  from  me,  as  if  I  spoke 
them  to  myself  and  did  not  mean  them  to  be  heard.  I 
do  not  think  Mrs.  Ascher  knew  them.  I  fear  she  sus- 
pected me  of  making  some  sort  of  joke.  I  hastened 
to  redeem  my  character. 

"Psyche,"  I  said,  "the  soul." 

I  was  right  so  far.  Psyche  is  the  Greek  for  the  soul. 
I  ventured  further. 

"The  human  soul,  the  artistic  soul." 

Mrs.  Ascher  appeared  to  be  absolutely  hanging  on 
my  words.  I  plunged  on. 

"Aspiring,"  I  said,  "reaching  after  the  unattainable." 

I  would  not  have  said,  "hoping  for  a  yawn"  for  any- 
thing that  could  have  been  offered  me;  but  the  young 
woman  who  stood  for  Mrs.  Ascher's  Psyche  must  have 
longed  for  that  relief.  The  attitude  in  which  she  was 
posed  suggested  yawning  all  the  time,  and  we  all  know 
how  fatal  it  is  to  think  of  a  yawn. 

"Quite  unfinished,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher  with  a  sigh. 

"The  fault  of  New  York,"  I  said.  "When  you  get 
home  again " 

I  hesitated.  I  did  not  wish  to  commit  myself  to  a 
confession  of  ignorance,  and  I  do  not  know  whether 
a  damp,  soft  Psyche  can  be  packed  up  and  trans- 
ported across  the  Atlantic  to  be  finished  in  London. 

"But  the  aspiration  is  there,"  I  said,  "and  you  owe 


86  GOSSAMER 

that  to  New  York.  The  air,  the  very  same  air  which 
forbids  completion,  is  charged  with  aspiration.  We 
all  feel  it.  The  city  itself  aspires.  Since  the  great 
days  when  men  set  out  to  build  a  tower  the  top  of 
which  should  reach  unto  heaven,  there  has  never  been 
such  aspiration  anywhere  in  the  world.  Look  at  the 
Woolworth  Building." 

I  was  maundering  and  I  knew  it.  Mrs.  Ascher's 
statuette  was  very  nice  and  graceful;  a  much  better 
thing  than  I  expected  to  see,  but  there  was  nothing  in 
it,  nothing  at  all  in  the  way  of  thought  or  emotion. 
There  must  be  hundreds  of  people  who  can  turn  out 
clay  girls  just  as  good  as  that  Psyche.  Somehow  I 
had  expected  something  different  from  Mrs.  Ascher, 
less  skill  in  modelling,  less  care,  but  more  temperament. 

"There's  nothing  else  worth  showing,"  she  said,  "ex- 
cept perhaps  this.  Yes,  except  this." 

She  unwrapped  more  bandages.  A  damp,  pale-grey 
head  appeared.  It  was  standing  in  a  large  saucer  or 
soup  plate.  At  first  I  thought  she  had  been  at  John 
the  Baptist  and  had  chosen  the  moment  when  his  head 
lay  in  the  charger  ready  for  the  dancing  girl  to  take 
to  her  mother.  Fortunately  I  looked  at  it  carefully  be- 
fore speaking.  I  saw  that  it  was  Tim  Gorman's  head. 

"He  sat  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher,  "and  by  degrees 
I  came  to  know  him  very  well.  One  does,  one  cannot 
help  it,  talking  to  a  person  every  day  and  watching, 
always  watching.  Do  you  think ?" 

"I  think  it's  wonderful,"  I  said. 

This  time  I  spoke  with  real  and  entire  conviction. 
I  am  no  expert  judge  of  anything  in  the  world  except 


GOSSAMER  87 

perhaps  a  horse  or  a  bottle  of  claret,  but  I  was  im- 
pressed by  this  piece  of  Mrs.  Ascher's  work.  Tim 
Gorman's  fine  eyes  were  the  only  things  about  him 
which  struck  me  as  noticeable.  No  artist  can  model 
eyes  in  clay.  But  Mrs.  Ascher  had  got  all  that  I  saw 
in  his  eyes  into  the  head  before  me — all  and  a  great 
deal  more.  She  had  somehow  succeeded  in  making  the 
lips,  the  nostrils,  the  forehead,  the  cheek-bones,  express 
the  fact  that  Tim  Gorman  is  an  idealist,  a  dreamer  of 
fine  dreams  and  at  the  same  time  innocent  as  a  child 
which  looks  out  at  the  world  with  wonder.  I  do  not 
know  how  the  woman  did  it.  I  should  not  have  sup- 
posed her  capable  of  even  seeing  what  she  had  ex- 
pressed in  her  clay,  but  there  it  was. 

"You  really  like  it?" 

She  spoke  with  a  curious  note  of  humility  in  her 
voice.  My  impulse  was  to  say  that  I  liked  her,  for  the 
first  time  saw  the  real  good  in  her ;  but  I  could  not  say 
that. 

"Like  it !"  I  said.  "It  isn't  for  me  to  like  or  dislike 
it.  I  don't  know  anything  about  those  things.  I  am 
not  capable  of  judging.  But  this  seems  to  me  to  be 
really  great." 

"Ah !"  said  Mrs.  Ascher,  "and  this  time  you  are  sin- 
cere." 

She  looked  at  me  quite  gravely  as  she  spoke.  Then 
a  smile  slowly  broadened  her  mouth. 

"That's  not  the  way  you  spoke  of  poor  Psyche's 
aspiration,"  she  said,  "you  were  laughing  at  me 
then." 

A  cold   sweat  broke  out  on  my   forehead.     The 


88  GOSSAMER 

woman  had  understood  every  word  I  said  to  her,  un- 
derstood what  I  meant  as  well  as  what  I  wanted  to 
convey  to  her,  two  very  different  things.  She  was  im- 
mensely more  clever  than  I  suspected  or  could  have 
guessed. 

"Mrs.  Ascher,"  I  said,  "I  beg  your  pardon." 

"You  were  quite  right,"  she  said.  "That  other  thing 

isn't  Psyche.  It's  just  a  silly  little  girl,  the  model 

There  wasn't  anything  about  her  that  I  could  see,  noth- 
ing but  just  a  pretty  body." 

So  she  dismissed  my  apology  and  turned  to  Tim 
Gorman's  head  again.  She  ran  her  finger  lightly  round 
the  rim  of  the  saucer. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  this?"  she  said.  "What  is 
his  head  to  stand  on,  to  rise  from  ?  I  was  thinking  of 
water-lily  leaves,  as  if  the  head  were  emerging " 

I  felt  that  I  owed  Mrs.  Ascher  some  frankness  in 
return  for  my  first  insult  to  her  intelligence.  Besides, 
I  was  moved.  I  was,  as  I  had  not  been  for  years, 
emotional.  Tim  Gorman's  head  gripped  me  in  a  curi- 
ous way. 

"Good  God,  Woman,"  I  said,  "anything  in  the  world 
but  that!  Wrap  up  that  chorus  girl  of  a  Psyche  in 
leaves  if  you  like.  Sprinkle  rose  petals  over  her  or 
any  other  damned  sentimentalism.  But  this  man  is  a 
mechanic.  He  has  invented  a  cash  register.  What  in 
the  name  of  all  that's  holy  has  he  got  to  do  with  water- 
lily  leaves  ?  Put  hammers  round  his  head,  and  pincers, 
and  long  nails." 

I  stopped.  I  realised  suddenly  that  I  was  making 
an  unutterable  fool  of  myself.  I  was  talking  as  I 


GOSSAMER  89 

never  talked  in  my  life  before,  saying  out  loud  the 
sort  of  things  I  have  carefully  schooled  myself  neither 
to  feel  nor  to  think. 

"After  all,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher,  "you  have  an  artist's 
soul." 

I  shuddered.  Mrs.  Ascher  looked  at  me  and  smiled 
again,  a  half-pitiful  smile. 

"I  suppose  I  must  have,"  I  said.  "But  I  won't  let  it 
break  loose  in  that  way  again.  I'll  suppress  it.  It's — 
it's — this  is  rather  an  insulting  thing  to  say  to  you, 
but  it's  a  humiliating  discovery  to  make  that  I 
have " 

Mrs.  Ascher  nodded. 

"My  husband  always  says  that  you  Irish " 

"He's  quite  wrong,"  I  said ;  "quite  wrong  about  me 
at  all  events.  I  hate  paradoxes.  I'm  a  plain  man. 
The  only  thing  I  really  admire  is  common  sense." 

"I  understand,"  she  said.  "I  understand  exactly 
what  you  feel." 

She  is  a  witch  and  very  likely  did  understand.  I 
did  not. 

"Now,"  she  said.  "Now,  I  can  talk  to  you.  Sit 
down,  please." 

She  pulled  over  a  low  stool,  the  only  seat  in  the 
room.  I  sat  on  it.  Mrs.  Ascher  stood,  or  rather 
drooped  in  front  of  me,  leaning  on  one  hand,  which 
rested,  palm  down,  on  the  table  where  Tim  Gorman's 
image  stood.  I  doubt  whether  Mrs.  Ascher  ever 
stands  straight  or  is  capable  of  any  kind  of  stiffness. 
But  even  drooping,  she  had  a  distinct  advantage  over 
me.  My  stool  was  very  low  and  my  legs  are  long.  If 


90  GOSSAMER 

I  ventured  to  lean  forwards,  my  knees  would  have 
touched  my  chin,  a  position  in  which  it  is  impossible 
for  a  man  to  assert  himself. 

"I  am  so  very  glad,"  she  said,  "that  you  like  the 
little  head." 

I  was  not  going  to  be  caught  again.  One  lapse  into 
artistic  fervour  was  enough  for  me.  Even  at  the  risk 
of  offending  Mrs.  Ascher  beyond  forgiveness,  I  was 
determined  to  preserve  my  self-respect. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  take  my  word  for  it's  being 
good,"  I  said.  "Ask  somebody  who  knows.  The  fact 
that  I  like  it  is  a  proof  that  it's  bad,  bad  art,  if  it's  a 
proof  of  anything.  I  never  really  admire  anything 
good,  can't  bear,  simply  can't  bear  old  masters,  or" — I 
dimly  recollected  some  witty  essays  by  my  brilliant 
fellow-countryman  Mr.  George  Moore — "I  detest 
Corot.  My  favourite  artist  is  Leader." 

Mrs.  Ascher  smiled  all  the  time  I  was  speaking. 

"I  know  quite  well,"  she  said,  "that  my  work  isn't 
good.  But  you  saw  what  I  meant  by  it.  You  can't 
deny  it  now,  and  you  know  that  the  boy  is  like  that." 

"I  don't  know  anything  of  the  sort.  I  don't  know 
anything  at  all  about  him.  The  only  time  I  ever  came 
into  touch  with  him  he  was  helping  his  brother  to 
persuade  Mr.  Ascher  to  go  into  a  doubtful — well,  to 
make  money  by  what  I'd  call  sharp  practice." 

"I  don't  think  he  was,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher.  "The 
elder  brother  may  have  been  doing  what  you  say ;  but 
Tim  wasn't." 

"He  was  in  the  game,"  I  said. 

I  spoke  all  the  more  obstinately  because  I  knew 


GOSSAMER  91 

that  Tim  was  not  in  the  game.  I  was  determined  not 
to  be  hysterical  again. 

"I've  had  that  poor  boy  here  day  after  day,"  said 
Mrs.  Ascher,  "and  I  really  know  him.  He  has  the 
soul  of  an  artist.  He  is  a  creator.  He  is  one  of  hu- 
manity's mother  natures.  You  know  how  it  is  with  us. 
Something  quickens  in  us.  We  travail  and  bring  to 
the  birth." 

Mrs.  Ascher  evidently  included  herself  among  the 
mother  natures.  It  seemed  a  pity  that  she  had  not 
gone  about  the  business  in  the  ordinary  way.  I  think; 
she  would  have  been  happier  if  she  had.  However, 
the  head  of  Tim  Gorman  was  something.  She  had 
produced  it. 

"That  is  art,"  she  said  dreamily,  "conception,  gesta- 
tion, travail,  birth.  It  does  not  matter  whether  the 
thing  born  is  a  poem,  a  picture,  a  statue,  a  sonata,  a 
temple " 

"Or  a  cash  register,"  I  said. 

The  thing  born  might  apparently  be  anything  except 
an  ordinary  baby.  The  true  artist  does  not  think  much 
of  babies.  They  are  bourgeois  things. 

"Or  a  cash  register,"  she  said.  "It  makes  no  dif- 
ference. The  man  who  creates,  who  brings  into  being, 
has  only  one  desire,  that  his  child,  whatever  it  may  be, 
shall  live.  If  it  is  stifled,  killed,  a  sword  goes  through 
his  heart." 

It  seemed  to  me  even  then  with  Mrs.  Ascher's  eyes 
on  me,  that  it  was  rather  absurd  to  talk  about  a  cash 
register  living.  I  do  not  think  that  men  have  ever 
personified  this  machine.  We  talk  of  ships  and  en- 


92  GOSSAMER 

gines  by  the  names  we  give  them  and  use  personal 
pronouns,  generally  feminine,  when  we  speak  of  them. 
But  did  any  one  ever  call  a  cash  register  "Minnie"  or 
talk  of  it  familiarly  as  "she"  ? 

"He  thinks,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher,  "indeed  he  is  sure — 
he  says  his  brother  told  him " 

"I  know,"  I  said.  "The  machine  isn't  going  to  be 
put  on  the  market  at  all.  It  is  to  be  used  simply  as  a 
threat  to  make  other  people  pay  what  I  should  call 
blackmail." 

"That  must  not  be,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher. 

Her  voice  was  pitched  a  couple  of  tones  higher  than 
usual.  I  might  almost  say  she  shrieked. 

"It  must  not  be,"  she  repeated,  "must  not.  It  is  a 
crime,  a  vile  act,  the  murder  of  a  soul." 

Cash  registers  have  not  got  souls.  I  am  as  sure  of 
that  as  I  am  of  anything. 

"That  boy,"  she  went  on,  "that  passionate,  brave, 
pure  boy,  he  must  not  be  dragged  down,  defiled.  His 
soul » 

It  was  Tim  Gorman's  soul  then,  not  the  cash  regis- 
ters, which  she  was  worrying  about.  Having  seen  her 
presentation  of  the  boy's  head,  having  it  at  that  mo- 
ment before  my  eyes,  I  understood  what  she  meant. 
But  I  was  not  going  to  let  myself  be  swept  again 
into  the  regions  of  artistic  passion  to  please  Mrs. 
Ascher. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "it  does  seem  rather  a  shady  way  of 
making  money.  But  after  all " 

I  have  mentioned  that  Mrs.  Ascher  never  stands  up- 
right. She  went  very  near  it  when  I  mentioned  money. 


GOSSAMER  93 

She  threw  her  head  back,  flung  both  her  arms  out 
wide,  clenched  her  fists  tightly,  and,  if  the  expression 
is  possible,  drooped  backwards  from  her  hips.  A 
slightly  soiled  light-blue  overall  is  not  the  garment  best 
suited  to  set  off  the  airs  and  attitudes  of  high  tragedy. 
But  Mrs.  Ascher's  feelings  were  strong  enough  to 
transfigure  even  her  clothes. 

"Money!"  she  said.  "Oh,  Money!  Is  there  noth- 
ing else  ?  Do  you  care  for,  hope  for,  see  nothing  else 
in  the  world  ?  What  does  it  matter  whether  you  make 
money  or  not,  or  how  you  make  it  ?" 

It  is  only  those  who  are  very  rich  indeed  or  those 
who  are  on  the  outer  fringe  of  extreme  poverty  who 
can  despise  money  in  this  whole-hearted  way.  The 
wife  of  a  millionaire — the  millionaire  himself  probably 
attaches  some  value  to  money  because  he  has  to  get  it 
— and  the  regular  tramp  can  say  "Oh,  money?  Is 
there  nothing  else?"  The  rest  of  us  find  money  a  use- 
ful thing  and  get  what  we  can  of  it. 

Mrs.  Ascher  let  her  arms  fall  suddenly  to  her  sides, 
folded  herself  up  and  sat  down,  or  rather  crouched, 
on  the  floor.  From  that  position  she  looked  up  at  me 
with  the  greatest  possible  intensity  of  eye. 

"I  know  what  you're  thinking,"  she  said.  "You're 
thinking  of  my  husband.  But  he  hates  money  just  as 
much  as  I  do.  All  he  wants  to  escape,  to  have  done 
with  it,  to  live  peaceably  with  me,  somewhere  far 
away,  far,  far  away  from  everywhere." 

Her  eyes  softened  as  she  spoke.  They  even  filled 
with  water,  tears,  I  suppose.  But  she  seemed  to  me 
to  be  talking  nonsense.  Ascher  was  making  money, 


94  GOSSAMER 

piling  it  up.  He  could  stop  if  he  liked.  So  I  thought. 
So  any  sensible  man  must  think.  And  as  for  living 
somewhere  far,  far  away,  what  did  the  woman  want 
to  get  away  from?  Every  possible  place  of  residence 
on  the  earth's  surface  is  near  some  other  place.  You 
cannot  get  far,  far  away  from  everywhere.  The  thing 
is  a  physical  impossibility.  I  made  an  effort  to  get 
back  to  common  sense. 

"About  Tim  Gorman's  cash  register?"  I  said. 
"What  would  you  suggest?" 

"You  mustn't  let  them  do  that  hateful  thing,"  she 
said.  "You  can  stop  them  if  you  will." 

"I  don't  believe  I  can,"  I  said.  "I'm  extraordinarily 
feeble  and  ineffectual  in  every  way.  In  business  mat- 
ters I'm  a  mere  babe." 

"Mr.  Gorman  will  listen  to  you,"  she  said.  "He 
will  understand  if  you  explain  to  him.  He  is  a  writer, 
an  artist.  He  must  understand." 

I  shook  my  head.  Gorman  can  write.  I  admit  that. 
His  writing  is  a  great  deal  better  than  Mrs.  Ascher's 
modelling,  though  she  did  do  that  head  of  Tim.  I 
do  not  hail  Gorman's  novels  or  his  plays  as  great  liter- 
ature, though  they  are  good.  But  some  of  his  criti- 
cism is  the  finest  thing  of  its  kind  that  has  been  pub- 
lished in  our  time.  But  Gorman  does  not  look  at  these 
matters  as  Mrs.  Ascher  does.  I  do  not  believe  he  ever 
wrote  a  line  in  his  life  without  expecting  to  be  paid  for 
it.  He  would  not  write  at  all  if  he  could  find  any 
easier  and  pleasanter  way  of  making  money.  There 
was  no  use  saying  that  to  Mrs.  Ascher.  All  I  could  do 
when  she  asked  me  to  appeal  to  Gorman's  artistic  soul 


GOSSAMER  95 

was  to  shake  my  head.  I  shook  it  as  decisively  as  I 
could. 

"And  my  husband  will  listen  to  you,"  she  said. 

"My  dear  lady !  wouldn't  he  be  much  more  likely  to 
listen  to  you  ?" 

"But  we  never  talk  about  such  things,"  she  said. 
"Never,  never.  Our  life  together  is  sacred,  hallowed, 
a  thing  apart, 

"'Above  the  smoke  and  stir  of  this  dim  spot 
Which  men  call  earth.'" 

It  surprised  me  to  hear  Mrs.  Ascher  quote  Milton. 
I  did  not  somehow  expect  to  find  that  she  knew  or 
liked  that  particular  poet.  I  am  nearly  sure  he  would 
not  have  liked  her. 

"We  cannot  desecrate  our  union,"  she  said,  "by  talk- 
ing about  money." 

The  subject  to  be  discussed  with  Ascher  was  plainly 
not  money,  but  Tim  Gorman's  soul.  Money  only  came 
incidentally.  However,  there  was  no  use  arguing  a 
point  like  that.  There  was  no  use  arguing  any  point. 
I  gave  in  and  promised  to  see  Ascher  about  the  matter. 
I  prefer  Ascher  to  Gorman  if  I  have  to  persuade  any 
one  to  act  midwife  at  the  birth  of  a  cash  register. 
Gorman  would  be  certain  to  laugh.  Ascher  would  at 
all  events  listen  to  me  courteously. 

"To-morrow,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher. 

"Certainly,"  I  said.    "To-morrow,  quite  early." 

Mrs.  Ascher  uncoiled  herself  and  rose  from  the 
floor.  I  struggled  to  my  feet  rather  stiffly,  for  my 


96  GOSSAMER 

stool  was  far  too  low.  She  took  my  hand  and  held  it. 
I  feared  for  a  moment  that  she  meant  to  kiss  it. 

"Thank  you,"  she  whispered.  "Thank  you  again 
and  again." 

I  took  a  long  walk  after  I  left  the  studio.  I  wanted 
to  assimilate  a  new  fact,  to  get  my  mental  vision  into 
focus  again. 

Ever  since  I  thought  about  things  at  all,  I  have  re- 
garded the  "artist"  outlook  upon  life  as  a  pose,  and  the 
claim  to  artistic  temperament  as  an  excuse  for  selfish- 
ness and  bad  temper  in  private  life.  Mrs.  Ascher  had 
convinced  me  that,  in  her  case  at  least,  the  artist  soul 
is  a  reality.  She  was  hysterical  and  ridiculous  when 
she  talked  to  me,  but  she  was  sincere.  She  was  not 
posing  even  when  she  crumpled  herself  upon  the  floor 
and  looked  like  a  sick  serpent.  She  was  in  simple 
earnest  when  she  mouthed  her  lines  about  money, 
money.  There  might  be,  probably  were,  several  other 
people  in  the  world  like  Mrs.  Ascher,  might  even  be 
many  others.  That  was  the  new  fact  which  I  wanted 
to  digest. 

I  reflected  that  I  myself  was  kin  to  her,  had  in  me, 
latent  and  undeveloped,  an  artist's  soul.  I  had  felt  the 
thing  fluttering  when  I  lost  my  self-control  and  talked 
flamboyantly  about  the  head  of  Tim  Gorman.  It  was 
necessary  that  I  should  keep  a  firm  grip  on  myself.  I 
belong  to  a  class  which  has  lost  everything  except  its 
sanity.  I  think  it  is  true  of  the  Irish  aristocracy  that 
even  its  period  of  greatest  glory,  even  when  Grattan 
was  waving  his  arms  and  shouting  "Esto  Perpetua !" 
it  remained  sane.  I  have  nothing  else  left  of  what  my 


GOSSAMER  97 

forefathers  bequeathed  to  me,  but  I  still  have  this  tem- 
perament. A  man  clings  desperately  to  the  last  rem- 
nants of  his  heritage. 

The  artist's  soul  is  a  reality.  I  admitted  that.  But 
it  is  also  a  disease.  I  had  learned  to  believe  in  it  as 
a  man  learns  to  believe  in  influenza  when  his  tempera- 
ture runs  up  to  104  degrees  and  his  bones  ache  furi- 
ously. But  there  is  a  difference  between  admitting 
the  existence  of  a  disease  and  deliberately  cultivating 
the  germs  of  it. 

I  crossed  5th  Avenue  at  32nd  Street  in  great  peril 
of  my  life,  for  the  traffic  at  that  point  is  as  wild  as  the 
emotions  of  the  artistic  soul. 

It  came  into  my  mind  that  quite  possibly  the  thrills 
and  throbs  which  Mrs.  Ascher  enjoys,  of  which  I  my- 
self had  a  brief  and  mild  experience,  are  not  only  real, 
but  worth  while.  There  may  after  all  be  something 
greater  in  the  world  than  common  sense.  I  fell  to 
dreaming  of  what  life  might  be  like  to  the  man  who 
refused  to  take  it  as  it  is,  who  insisted  on  seeing  above 
him,  not  silly  little  twinkling  stars,  but  great  worlds 
coursing  through  the  infinite  spaces  of  eternity.  I  ran 
into  a  boy  carrying  books,  while  I  was  thinking  about 
eternity.  His  books  were  scattered  over  the  pavement 
and  I  hurt  my  knee.  I  decided  that  my  faint  longing 
for  what  Mrs.  Ascher  would  call  "higher  possibilities" 
is  a  temptation,  something  to  be  conquered.  I  finished 
my  meditation  with  a  "Retro  Satanas"  and  returned  to 
my  hotel  for  luncheon,  confident  that  I  should  come 
out  victor  in  my  struggle. 

Ascher  has  certainly  far  more  determination  and 


98  GOSSAMER 

force  of  character  than  I  have ;  but  he  does  not  seem 
able  to  break  himself  of  the  habit  of  making  money. 
His  wife  says  that  he  hates  doing  it  and  wants  to  stop. 
But  he  goes  on  doing  it.  He  has  formed  a  habit  of 
making  money,  and  habit  is  almost  unconquerable.  It 
was  plainly  the  path  of  wisdom  for  me  to  check  my 
tendency  towards  art  at  the  very  beginning,  not  to 
allow  the  habit  of  feeling  artistically,  indeed  of  feeling 
at  all,  to  form  itself. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

T  HAD  no  idea  of  breaking  the  promise  I  made  Mrs. 
-*-  Ascher;  but  I  felt  a  certain  hesitation  about  enter- 
ing again  the  Holiest  of  Holies  in  the  office  of  Ascher," 
Stutz  &  Co.  I  was  a  little  afraid  of  Stutz,  who  seemed 
to  me  a  severe  man,  very  little  tolerant  of  human 
folly.  Still  I  would  have  faced  Stutz  without  shrink- 
ing, especially  in  a  good  cause.  What  I  really  disliked 
was  the  idea  of  suggesting  a  business  policy  to  Ascher. 
The  man  was  immeasurably  my  superior  in  natural 
ability  and  in  experience.  I  felt  that  I  should  be 
guilty  of  insolence  if  I  offered  him  any  advice,  and 
of  something  worse  than  insolence  if  I  insisted  on 
my  advice  being  taken.  Yet  it  was  just  this  which 
Mrs.  Ascher  expected  of  me,  and  I  did  not  want  to 
disappoint  her. 

It  is  true  that  I  was  a  shareholder  in  the  New  Ex- 
celsior Cash  Register  Company.  I  may  have  been  a 
director.  Gorman  said  something  about  my  being  a 
director.  I  had  accepted  the  office,  pledged  before- 
hand to  the  approval  of  Gorman's  policy  and  there- 
fore had  no  right  to  intervene.  What  claim  had  I 
to  insist  on  Ascher's  doing  this  or  that?  I  should 
not  feel  myself  justified  in  calling  on  an  archbishop 
and  insisting  on  drastic  alterations  in  the  Apostle's 
Creed.  Ascher  is  at  least  an  archbishop,  possibly  a 

99 


ioo  GOSSAMER 

patriarch,  or  even  a  cardinal,  in  that  truly  catholic 
church  which  worships  Mammon. 

But  I  had  promised. 

I  went  to  the  office  next  morning,  early.  Having 
forgotten  to  make  an  appointment  with  Ascher  before- 
hand I  had  to  wait  some  time  before  I  saw  him.  I 
sat  in  the  large  anteroom  through  which  I  had  passed 
when  I  first  visited  the  office  with  Gorman.  Through 
the  glass  door  I  was  able  to  see  the  public  office  out- 
side where  men  went  busily  to  and  fro. 

I  understood  just  enough  about  this  business  of 
Ascher's  to  be  able  to  read  romance,  the  romance 
which  was  certainly  there,  in  the  movements  of  the 
quiet  men  who  passed  and  repassed  before  my  eyes, 
or  bent  with  rarely  lifted  heads  over  huge  ledgers,  or 
turned  over  with  deft  fingers  piles  of  papers  in  stuffed 
filing  boxes.  These  men  were  in  touch  with  the  fur- 
thest ends  of  the  earth.  Coded  telegrams  fluttered 
from  their  hands  and  went  vibrating  across  thousands 
of  miles  of  land  or  through  the  still  depths  of  oceans, 
over  unlighted  tracts  of  ooze  on  the  sea-bottom.  In 
London  the  words  were  read  and  men  set  free  pent 
up,  dammed  streams  of  money.  In  Hongkong  the 
words  were  read  and  some  steamer  went  out,  laden, 
from  her  harbour.  Gold  was  poured  into  the  hands 
of  tea-planters  in  Ceylon.  Scanty  wages  in  strange 
coins,  dribbled  out  to  factory  workers  in  Russian 
cotton  mills.  Gangs  of  navvies  went  to  work  laying 
railway  lines  across  the  veldt  in  Bechuanaland. 
There  was  no  end  to  the  energy  controlled,  directed 
by  these  cable  messages,  nor  any  bounds  to  the  field 


GOSSAMER  101 

of  their  influence.  Somewhere  in  Ireland  a  farmer 
would  go  home  along  a  desolate  road,  crossing  brown 
bogs,  thirsty  and  disconsolate,  his  lean  beasts  unsold 
at  a  fair  where  buyers  were  scarce  or  shy.  What  did 
he  know  of  Ascher  or  Ascher  know  of  him?  Yet  the 
price  which  he  might  take  or  must  refuse  for  those 
hardly  reared  bullocks  of  his  depended  at  the  end  of 
a  long  chain,  on  what  the  Aschers  in  their  office  said 
and  did. 

Perhaps  hardly  one  of  all  the  busy  men  I  watched 
quite  knew  what  he  was  doing.  They  juggled  with 
figures,  made  precis  of  the  reports  of  money  markets, 
dissected  and  analysed  the  balance  sheets  of  railway 
companies,  decoded  messages  from  London  or  from 
Paris,  transcribed  formulae  as  abstract,  as  remote 
from  tangible  things  as  the  x  and  y  of  algebraic  equa- 
tions. These  men  all  worked — the  apologue  of  the 
quadratic  equation  held  my  mind — moving  their  sym- 
bols here  and  there,  extracting  roots,  dissolving  close- 
knit  phrases  into  factors,  cancelling,  simplifying,  but 
always  dealing  with  symbols  meaningless,  unreal  in 
themselves.  Behind  them  was  Ascher,  Ascher  and  I 
suppose  Stutz,  who  expressed  realities  in  formulae, 
and,  when  the  sums  were  done,  extracted  realities 
from  the  formulae  again,  achieving  through  the  seem- 
ingly sterile  processes  new  facts,  fresh  grasp  of  the 
things  which  are,  greater  power  to  deal  with  them. 
They  knew  and  understood  and  held  the  whole  world 
in  leading  strings,  delicate  as  silk,  invisible,  impalpable, 
but  strong. 

The  door  of  Ascher's  private  office  opened  and  a 


102  GOSSAMER 

man  passed  out.  I  glanced  at  him.  He  was  a  clean- 
shaved,  keen-eyed,  square- jawed  man,  the  type  which 
American  business  methods  have  produced,  a  man  of 
resource  and  quick  decision,  but  a  man,  so  I  guessed, 
who  dealt  with  things,  and  money  only  as  the  price 
of  things,  the  reward  of  making  them.  He  lacked,  so 
I  felt,  something  of  the  fine  spirituality  of  Ascher, 
the  scientific  abstraction  of  the  man  who  lives  in  a 
rarer  atmosphere  of  pure  finance. 

A  clerk  at  my  elbow  invited  me  to  leave  my  place 
and  take  my  turn  with  Ascher. 

I  could  not  bring  myself  to  plunge  straightway  into 
my  business.  I  began  by  pretending  that  I  had  no  real 
business  at  all. 

"Any  chance,"  I  asked,  "of  our  being  travelling 
companions  again?  I  am  leaving  New  York  almost 
at  once." 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  said  Ascher.  "I've  a  great  deal 
to  do  here  still." 

"Those  Mexican  affairs?" 

"Those  among  others." 

"The  Government  here  seems  to  be  making  rather 
a  muddle  of  Mexico,"  I  said. 

Opinion  on  this  subject  was,  so  far  as  I  knew,  nearly 
unanimous  among  business  men.  Every  one  who 
owned  shares  in  Mexican  companies,  every  one  who 
had  invested  hopefully  a  little  while  before  in  Mexican 
railways,  every  one  who  had  any  kind  of  interest  in 
Mexico  was  of  the  same  opinion  about  the  inaction  of 
the  American  Government. 

"I  think  it  is  a  muddle,"  said  Ascher,  "but  the  idea 


GOSSAMER  103 

in  the  minds  of  the  men  who  are  making  the  muddle 
is  a  fine  one.  If  only  the  world  could  be  worked  on 
those  principles " 

"But  it  can't." 

"Not  yet,"  said  Ascher.  "Perhaps  never.  Yet  the 
idea  on  which  the  Government  in  Washington  pro- 
ceeds is  a  noble  one.  Respect  for  constitutional  order 
should  be  a  greater  thing  as  a  principle  of  statesman- 
ship than  obvious  expediency." 

The  man's  unnatural  detachment  of  view  worried 
me.  It  was  the  same  when  Gorman  blared  out  his 
stereotyped  abuse  of  financiers,  his  well-worn  cliches 
about  money  kings  and  poison  spiders.  Ascher  agreed 
with  him.  Ascher,  apparently,  had  some  approval  for 
the  doctrinnaire  constitutionalism  of  university  pro- 
fessors turned  diplomats.  I  could  not  follow  him  to 
those  heights  of  his. 

"I  was  thinking,"  I  said,  "of  going  home  by  way 
of  the  West  Indies." 

"Yes?  You  will  find  it  very  agreeable.  I  was 
there  in  1903  and  remember  enjoying  myself 
greatly." 

"I  wish  you  and  Mrs.  Ascher  would  come  too.  It 
would  be  much  pleasanter  for  me  if  I  had  you  with 
me." 

"It's  very  kind  of  you  to  say  so;  but " 

"Besides,"  I  said,  "I  should  see  so  much  more.  If 
I  go  by  myself  I  shall  step  from  a  steamer  into  an 
hotel  and  from  an  hotel  into  a  steamer.  I  shall  be 
forced  to  buy  a  Baedeker,  if  there  is  a  Baedeker 
for  those  regions.  I  shall  be  a  tourist  of  the  ordinary 


104  GOSSAMER 

kind.  But  if  I  travelled  with  you  I  should  really 
see  things." 

Ascher  took  up  the  telephone  receiver. 

"If  you  like,"  he  said,  "I  can  give  you  letters  of 
introduction  to  our  correspondents  wherever  you  go. 
They  are  bankers,  of  course,  but  you  will  find  them 
intelligent  men." 

He  summoned  a  clerk. 

"If  you  give  me  an  idea  of  your  route "  he  said. 

"At  present,"  I  said,  "my  plans  are  very  vague.  I 
haven't  settled  anything.  Perhaps  you  will  give  me 
your  advice." 

He  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  towards  him  and  began 
to  write. 

"You  ought  to  see  the  work  at  Panama,"  he  said. 
"It  is  very  interesting  and  of  course  of  immense 
importance.  Certainly  you  must  see  that.  After- 
wards  " 

He  scribbled  on  his  sheet  of  paper,  making  lists  of 
place  names  and  adding  notes  about  ways  of  travelling. 

"If  you  go  further  south  still "  he  said.  "I  don't 

recommend  the  Amazon,  a  huge  river  of  course,  but 
unless  you  are  interested  in  rubber  or  entomology. 
The  insect  life  I  believe " 

"I'm  interested  in  everything,"  I  said,  "even  insects 
which  bite." 

"Well,  Para,  perhaps,  then  south  again.  The  South 
American  ports  are  worth  seeing." 

A  clerk  entered  while  he  was  speaking.  Ascher 
handed  him  the  list  he  had  written. 

"Look  out  the  names  of  our  agents  in  these  places," 


GOSSAMER  105 

he  said,  "and  have  letters  of  introduction  made  out  to 
them  for  Sir  James  Digby." 

The  clerk  left  the  room  and  I  thanked  Ascher 
warmly.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  taking  a  great 
deal  of  trouble  for  which  he  could  expect  no  kind  of 
reward.  He  waved  my  gratitude  aside. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  our  agents  will  be  able 
to  make  your  trip  interesting  for  you.  They  can  tell 
you  what  you  want  to  know  about  the  trade  and  the 
natural  wealth  of  the  places  you  visit.  They  will  put 
you  in  the  way  of  finding  out  the  trend  of  political 
feeling.  It  is  their  business  to  know  these  things,  and 
in  visiting  new  countries — new  in  the  sense  that  they 
have  only  lately  felt  the  influences  of  our  civilisation — 
it  is  just  these  things  that  you  will  want  to  know. 
If  you  were  going  to  Italy,  or  Egypt,  or  Greece " 

Ascher  sighed.  I  felt  that  he  would  have  preferred 
Italy  to  Brazil  if  he  had  been  travelling  for  pleasure. 

"Ah,  there,"  I  said,  "an  artist  or  a  scholar  would 
be  a  better  friend  to  have  than  a  banker." 

"Even  there,"  said  Ascher,  "the  present  and  the 
future  matter  more  than  the  past,  perhaps.  But  are 
you  tied  at  all  by  time  ?  The  tour  which  I  have  indi- 
cated will  take  some  months." 

"I  am  an  idle  man,"  I  said.  "I  shall  go  on  as  long 
as  your  introductions  last,  gathering  knowledge 
which  will  not  be  the  slightest  use  to  me  or  any  one 
else." 

"I  had  better  provide  you  with  a  circular  letter  of 
credit,"  said  Ascher.  "It  is  never  wise  to  carry  con- 
siderable sums  about  in  your  pocket," 


106  GOSSAMER 

We  had  got  to  money,  to  business  in  the  strictest 
sense  of  the  word.  My  opportunity  had  plainly  come 
for  attacking  the  subject  of  the  cash  register.  Yet  I 
hesitated.  A  banker  ought  to  be  the  easiest  man  in 
the  world  to  talk  business  to.  There  is  no  awkward- 
ness about  the  subject  of  toothache  in  a  dentist's  par- 
lour. He  expects  to  be  talked  to  about  teeth.  It 
ought  to  have  been  an  equally  simple  thing  to  speak 
to  Ascher  about  the  future  of  a  company  in  which 
we  were  both  interested.  Yet  I  hesitated.  There  was 
something  in  his  manner,  a  grave  formality,  which 
kept  me  miles  away  from  him.  I  thanked  him  for  the 
promise  of  the  letter  of  credit  and  then  sat  silent  for  a 
minute. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Ascher,  "I  have  just  had  a  visit 
from  a  man  on  business  in  which  you  are  interested." 

"Was  that  the  man  who  passed  me  in  the  anteroom 
before  I  was  shown  in  here?" 

"Yes.  He  came  to  talk  to  me  about  Gorman's  new 
cash  register.  He  was  not  an  accredited  agent,  you 
will  understand.  He  did  not  profess  to  represent 
anybody.  He  was  not  empowered  to  treat  with  us  in 
any  way,  but " 

Ascher  smiled  faintly. 

"I  understand,"  I  said,  "a  sort  of  informal  ambassa- 
dor who  could  easily  be  disowned  if  anything  he  said 
turned  out  to  be  inconvenient.  In  politics  men  of 
that  sort  are  very  useful ;  but  I  somehow  had  the  idea 
that  business  methods  are  more  straightforward." 

"All  negotiations,"  said  Ascher,  "whether  in  politics 
or  business  are  carried  on  in  much  the  same  way. 


GOSSAMER  107 

But  before  I  go  into  his  suggestions  I  had  better  tell 
you  how  the  matter  stands.  Mildmay  sent  us  his 
report  and  it  was  entirely  favourable  to  the  new  ma- 
chine. I  think  the  invention  is  likely  to  turn  out  a 
valuable  property.  We  have  made  inquiries  and  find 
out  that  the  patent  rights  are  duly  protected  here 
and  in  all  the  chief  European  countries.  In  fact " 

"It  was  really  that  and  not  my  travels  which  I  came 
to  talk  to  you  about  to-day.  I  may  take  it  that  we 
have  got  a  good  thing." 

"We  think  so,"  said  Ascher,  "and  our  opinion  is 
confirmed  by  the  fact  that  we  are  not  the  only  people 
who  think  so.  If  I  am  right  about  the  man  who  visited 
me  this  morning  we  have  very  good  evidence  that  our 
opinion  is  sound.  The  men  who  are  in  the  best  posi- 
tion to  know  about  cash  registers,  who  are  most 
interested  in  their  future " 

"The  makers  of  the  existing  machines?" 

"Exactly.  That  is  to  say,  if  I  am  right  about  my 
visitor." 

"But  how  did  they — how  could  any  one  know  about 
Tim  Gorman's  invention?" 

Ascher  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Surely,"  I  said,  "Gorman  can't  have  been  such  a 
fool  as  to  talk  to  newspaper  reporters." 

"We  need  not  suppose  so,"  said  Ascher.  "My  ex- 
perience is  that  anything  worth  knowing  always  is 
known.  The  world  of  business  is  a  vast  whispering 
gallery.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  secrecy." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "the  main  point  is  that  this  man 
did  know.  What  did  he  want?" 


108  GOSSAMER 

"He  wanted  us  to  sell  the  patent  rights,"  said 
Ascher.  "What  he  said  was  that  he  had  a  client — 
he  posed  as  some  kind  of  commission  agent — who 
would  pay  a  substantial  sum  for  them." 

"That  is  just  what  Gorman  said  would  happen  once 
it  was  understood  that  your  firm  is  behind  the  new 
company." 

"Gorman  is — well,  astute.  But  you  understand,  I 
am  sure,  that  we  cannot  do  that  kind  of  business." 

"I  always  had  a  suspicion,"  I  said,  "that  Gorman's 
scheme  was  fishy." 

"I  do  not  say  fishy,"  said  Ascher.  "Gorman's  plan 
is  legitimate,  legitimate  business,  but  business  of  an 
unenlightened  kind.  What  is  wrong  with  Gorman  is 
that  he  does  not  see  far  enough,  does  not  grasp  the 
root  principle  of  all  business.  We  have  a  valuable 
invention.  I  do  not  mean  merely  an  invention  which 
will  put  money  into  the  pocket  of  the  inventor  and 
into  our  pockets.  If  it  were  valuable  only  in  that  way 
Gorman  would  be  quite  right,  and  our  wisest  course 
would  be  to  take  what  we  could  get  with  the  least 
amount  of  risk  and  trouble,  in  other  words  to  accept 
the  best  price  which  we  could  induce  the  buyers  to 
give  us.  But  this  invention  is  valuable  in  quite  another 
way.  The  new  machine,  if  we  are  right  about  it,  is 
going  to  facilitate  the  business  of  retail  sellers  all 
over  the  world.  It  will  save  time,  increase  accuracy, 
and,  being  cheaper,  make  its  way  into  places  where 
the  old  machines  never  went." 

"Ah,"  I  said,  "curiously  enough  I  looked  at  the 
matter  in  that  way  when  Gorman  first  mentioned  it  to 


GOSSAMER  109 

me.  I  said  that  the  world  ought  to  get  the  benefit  of 
this  invention." 

Ascher  nodded. 

"I  see  that,"  I  went  on.  "I  understand  that  way 
of  looking  at  it.  But  surely  that's  altruism,  not  busi- 
ness. Business  men  don't  risk  their  money  with  the 
general  idea  of  benefiting  humanity.  That  isn't  the 
way  things  are  done." 

"I  agree,"  said  Ascher.  "It's  not  the  way  things 
are  done  or  can  be  done  at  present,  though  there  is 
more  altruism  in  business  than  most  people  think. 
Even  we  financiers " 

"I  know  you  subscribe  to  charity,"  I  said,  "largely, 
enormously." 

"That's  not  what  I  mean,"  said  Ascher.  "But  we 
need  not  go  into  that.  I  believe  that  business  is  not 
philanthropy,  finance  is  not  altruism." 

"Then  why ?"  I  said.  "On  strict  business  prin- 
ciples, altruism  apart,  why  not  take  what  we  can  get 
out  of  Tim  Gorman's  invention  and  let  the  thing  itself 
drop  into  the  dustheap  ?" 

"On  business  principles,"  said  Ascher,  "on  the 
strictest  business  principles,  it  would  be  foolish  to  do 
that.  From  time  to  time  men  hit  on  some  improve- 
ment in  the  way  of  making  things  or  in  the  way  of 
dealing  with  things  after  they  are  made,  that  is  to  say 
in  business  methods.  Every  such  improvement  in- 
creases the  wealth  of  the  world,  tends  to  make  every- 
body richer.  This  invention  which  we  have  got  hold 
of  is  a  small  thing.  It's  only  going  to  do  a  little,  a 
very  little  to  make  the  world  richer,  but  it  is  going 


i  io  GOSSAMER 

to  do  something  for  it  is  going  to  lessen  the  labour 
required  for  certain  results  and  therefore  is  going 
to  increase  men's  power,  a  little,  just  a  little.  That 
is  why  we  must  make  the  thing  available,  if  we  can ; 
in  order  to  add  to  the  general  wealth,  and  there- 
fore to  our  own  wealth.  Those  are  business  prin- 
ciples." 

Ascher  paused.  I  had  nothing  to  say  for  a  moment. 
Business  principles  as  he  explained  them  were  not  the 
business  principles  I  was  accustomed  to,  certainly  not 
the  business  principles  on  which  Gorman  acted.  After 
a  minute's  silence  Ascher  went  on. 

"The  mistake  which  is  most  often  made  in  business," 
he  said,  "is  to  suppose  that  we  grow  rich  by  taking 
riches  from  other  men,  or  that  nations  prosper  by 
depriving  other  nations  of  prosperity.  That  would  be 
true  if  riches  consisted  of  money,  and  if  there  were 
just  so  much  money  and  no  more  in  the  world.  Then 
business  and  finance  would  be  a  scramble,  in  which 
the  roughest  and  strongest  scrambler  would  get  most. 
But  that  is  not  so." 

"Isn't  it?"  I  said.  "I  should  have  thought  that 
business  just  is  a  scramble." 

"No,"  said  Ascher,  "it  is  not.  Nations  grow  rich, 
that  is  to  say,  get  comfort,  ease,  and  even  luxury,  only 
when  other  nations  are  growing  rich  too,  only  be- 
cause other  nations  are  growing  rich." 

"The  way  to  grow  rich,"  I  said,  "is  to  make  other 
people  rich.  Is  that  it?  It  sounds  rather  like  one  of 
the — what  do  you  call  them? — counsels  of  perfection 
in  the  Gospel." 


GOSSAMER  in 

"Perhaps  it  is  a  religious  truth  too,"  said  Ascher. 
"I  don't  know.  I  have  never  studied  religion.  Some 
day  I  think  I  shall.  There  must  be  a  great  deal  that 
is  very  interesting  in  the  New  Testament." 

"Confound  you,  Ascher!  Is  there  anything  in 
heaven  or  earth  that  you  don't  look  at  from  the  out- 
side, as  if  you  were  some  kind  of  superior  epicurean 
god?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  ought  not  to  have  spoken 
in  that  way.  You  are,  no  doubt,  a  Christian." 

"Of  course  I  am — in — in  a  general  way." 

"I  have  often  thought,"  said  Ascher  slowly,  "that 
I  should  like  to  be.  But  from  the  little  I  know  of  that 
religion " 

"I  expect  you  know  as  much  as  I  do,"  I  said. 

"It  must  be,"  said  Ascher,  "very  hard  to  be  a 
Christian." 

I  was  not  going  to  discuss  that  point  with  Ascher. 
It  was  bad  enough  to  have  an  artistic  soul  awakened 
in  me  by  Mrs.  Ascher.  I  could  not  possibly  allow 
her  husband  to  lead  me  to  the  discovery  that  I  had 
the  other  kind  of  soul.  Nor  was  it  any  business  of 
mine  to  work  out  harmonies  between  Christian  ethics 
and  the  principles  of  modern  banking.  I  detest  puz- 
zles of  all  kinds.  It  is  far  better,  at  all  events  far  more 
comfortable,  to  take  life  as  one  finds  it,  a  straight- 
forward, commonplace  affair.  I  have  the  greatest 
respect  for  Christianity  of  a  moderate,  sensible  kind 
and  I  subscribe  to  the  funds  of  the  Church  of  Ireland. 
But  when  it  comes  to  practical  matters  I  find  myself 
in  agreement  with  Wordsworth's  "Rob  Roy." 


112  GOSSAMER 

The  good  old  rule 
Sufficeth  me,  the  simple  plan, 
That  they  should  take  who  have  the  power 
And  they  should  keep  who  can. 


So  long,  of  course,  as  one  does  not  do  anything  shady. 
I  do  not  like  lying  or  theft. 

Ascher  sat  looking  at  me  as  if  he  expected  me  to 
tell  him  exactly  how  hard  it  is  to  be  a  Christian.  I 
made  a  determined  effort  to  get  back  again  to  cash 
registers. 

"Tim  Gorman's  invention  will  get  its  chance  then  ?" 

"Yes.  If  we  can  manage  it  the  thing  will  get  its 
chance.  It  will  be  made  and,  I  think,  people  will 
use  it." 

"Mrs.  Ascher  will  be  very  pleased  to  hear  that." 

"Ah,"  said  Ascher.  "Is  she  interested?  But  I 
remember  now.  Young  Gorman  has  been  sitting  to 
her.  She  would  naturally  be  interested  in  him." 

"Her  idea,"  I  said,  "is  that  Tim  Gorman  is  pro- 
ducing a  baby,  with  all  the  usual  accompaniments  of 
that  difficult  business,  labour,  you  know,  and  pain. 
She  regards  you  as  the  doctor  in  attendance,  and  she 
thinks  it  would  be  exceedingly  wrong  of  you  to  choke 
the  little  thing." 

Ascher  looked  at  me  quite  gravely.  For  a  moment 
I  was  afraid  that  he  was  going  to  say  something  about 
the  paradoxical  brilliance  of  the  Irish  mind.  I  made 
haste  to  stop  him. 

"That's  Mrs.  Ascher's  metaphor,"  I  said,  "not  mine. 
I  should  never  have  thought  of  it.  I  don't  know 


GOSSAMER  113 

enough  about  the  artistic  soul  to  appreciate  the  feel- 
ings of  people  who  give  birth  to  cash  registers.  But 
the  idea  is  plain  enough.  Tim  Gorman  will  be  bitterly 
disappointed  if  he  does  not  see  girls  in  cheap  restau- 
rants putting  actual  shillings  into  those  machines  of 
his." 

"From  my  wife's  point  of  view/'  said  Ascher,  "and 
from  mine,  too,  that  ought  to  be  an  important  con- 
sideration. It's  the  artist's  feeling;  but  business  and 
art — unfortunately  business  and  art " 

"I  don't  see  why  they  shouldn't  kiss  and  be  friends," 
I  said.  "They're  not  nearly  such  irreconcilable  ene- 
mies as  business  and  religion.  Now  that  those  two 
have  lain  down  together  like  a  lion  and  a  lamb — I  don't 
quite  see  how  they  do  it,  but  in  that  new  philosophy 
of  yours  it  seemed  quite  a  simple  matter — there's  no 
real  reason  why  art  shouldn't  come  in  too." 

But  Ascher  shook  his  head.  He  did  not  seem  hope- 
ful of  a  marriage  between  art  and  business.  He 
knows  a  good  deal  about  both  of  them,  far  more,  by 
his  own  confession,  than  he  knows  about  religion. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  SCHER  was  very  generous  to  me  in  the  matter 
•**•  of  letters  of  introduction.  A  large  bundle  of 
them  arrived  at  my  hotel  two  days  after  I  paid  my 
visit  to  his  office.  There  must  have  been  fifty  or 
sixty  of  them  altogether.  I  sent  for  an  atlas  and 
found  that  I  had  a  friend  ready  made  for  me  in  every 
port  of  any  importance  in  the  West  Indies  and  on  the 
east  coast  of  South  America  as  far  down  as  Buenos 
Aires,  and  in  a  good  many  places  inland.  I  was  fas- 
cinated by  the  idea  of  such  a  tour ;  but  it  was  plainly 
not  an  excursion  to  be  undertaken  without  care  and 
consideration.  I  lingered  in  New  York  for  a  fort- 
night, buying  some  additional  clothes,  getting  together 
a  few  books  on  the  South  American  republics,  and 
working  out  steamboat  routes. 

I  saw  young  Tim  Gorman.  He  called  on  me,  sent 
by  Mrs.  Ascher,  to  thank  me  for  my  good  offices.  I 
deserved  no  thanks;  but  on  the  general  principle  of 
taking  what  I  could  get  I  allowed  the  boy  to  pour 
gratitude  all  over  me. 

"I  think,"  I  said,  "you  ought  to  do  fairly  well  out 
of  the  thing,  financially,  I  mean." 

"I  don't  care  about  that,"  said  Tim,  "at  least  not 

exactly.  I — I "  he  hesitated  for  a  moment  and 

then  blurted  out,  "I  don't  particularly  want  to  be  rich." 

114 


"That,"  I  said,  "is  precisely  how  you  ought  to  feel 
at  your  age,  but  when  you  get  to  be  forty — I'm  forty, 
so  I  know — you'll  probably  be  glad  enough  to  have 
some  money." 

"I  want  some  money  now,"  said  Tim.  "Do  you 

think  I  could  get ?  How  much  do  you  think  I'll 

get  out  of  my  cash  register?" 

"Well,"  I  said,  "it's  hard  to  name  an  exact  figure, 
but  it  will  be  something  pretty  substantial." 

"One  thousand  dollars?"  said  Tim  anxiously. 

"A  great  deal  more  than  that.  If  Mr.  Ascher  makes 
the  arrangements  he  contemplates  you'll  get  a  great 
deal  more." 

I  had  only  the  vaguest  idea  what  Ascher  meant 
to  do,  and  could  make  no  kind  of  guess  at  how  much 
Tim  would  ultimately  get,  but  I  felt  pretty  safe  in 
promising  two  hundred  pounds. 

"Do  you  think  I  could  get  it  at  once?"  said  Tim. 
"Or  even  five  hundred  dollars?  I  think  I  could  man- 
age with  five  hundred  dollars.  The  fact  is " 

"You  want  to  get  out  of  that  circus,"  I  said.  "I 
don't  wonder.  It  must  be  a  very  tiresome  job." 

"Oh,  no.  I  don't  mind  the  circus.  It's  rather  a 
nuisance  of  course  moving  about,  and  we  always  are 
moving.  But  I  have  plenty  of  time  to  myself.  It 
isn't  to  get  away  from  the  circus  that  I  want  the 
money.  The  fact  is  that  I'm  making  some  experi- 
ments." 

"Another  invention?"  I  said.  "What  a  prolific 
creature  you  are!  No  sooner  have  you  perfected  a 
cash  register  than  you  start " 


ii6  GOSSAMER 

"Oh,  I've  been  at  this  for  some  time,  for  years.  I 

believe  I've  hit  on  a  dodge I  say,  do  you  know 

anything  about  Movies  ?" 

The  word,  though  common  on  our  side  of  the  At- 
lantic now,  was  at  that  time  peculiar  to  the  American 
language. 

"Cinematographs?"  I  said.  "I've  seen  them  of 
course.  You  have  them  in  your  circus,  haven't  you, 
as  part  of  the  show?" 

"Yes.  That's  what  set  me  thinking  about  them. 
I've  always  felt  that  the  next  step  in  perfecting  the 
cinematograph  would  be  doing  away  with  the  screen, 
putting  the  figures  on  the  stage,  that  is  to  say  reflec- 
tions of  them,  so  that  they  would  actually  move  about 
backwards  and  forwards  instead  of  on  a  flat  surface. 
You  understand?" 

When  I  was  a  boy  there  was  a  popular  entertain- 
ment known  as  "Pepper's  Ghost."  What  appeared  to 
be  a  real  figure  moved  about  before  the  eyes  of  the 
audience,  was  pierced  by  swords  and  otherwise  ill- 
treated  without  suffering  any  inconvenience.  The 
thing  was  worked  by  some  arrangement  of  mirrors. 
Tim  evidently  had  a  plan  for  combining  this  illusion 
with  the  cinematograph. 

"Don't  you  think,"  he  said,  "that  it  would  be  a 
great  thing?" 

"It  would  be  a  perfectly  beastly  thing,"  I  said. 
"The  cinematograph  is  bad  enough  already.  If  you 
add  a  grosser  realism  to  it " 

Tim  looked  at  me.  I  am  nearly  sure  that  there  were 
tears  in  his  eyes. 


GOSSAMER  117 

"That's  just  what  Mrs.  Ascher  thinks,"  he  said. 

"I  daresay  she  does.  She  probably  regards  the 
cinematograph  as  a  sin  against  art.  What  you  propose 
would  be  an  actual  blasphemy." 

"Oh,"  said  Tim,  "that's  exactly  what  she  said.  Blas- 
phemy! Do  you  really  think  so  too?  I  wouldn't  go 
on  with  my  experiments  if  I  thought  that.  But  I 
don't  believe  you  can  be  right.  I — I  went  round  to  see 
Father  Bourke.  That  was  after  Mrs.  Ascher  said  it 
was  blasphemy  and  I  really  wanted  to  know.  Father 
Bourke  is  one  of  the  priests  at  St.  Gabriel's.  I  con- 
sulted him." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "what  did  he  tell  you?" 

"He  said  it  was  all  right  and  that  I  needn't  bother 
about  what  Protestants  said  was  blasphemy.  They 
don't  know.  At  least  Father  Bourke  seemed  to  think 
they  couldn't  know." 

"You  go  by  what  Father  Bourke  says  and  you'll  be 
safe." 

I  should  particularly  like  to  hear  Father  Bourke 
and  Mrs.  Ascher  arguing  out  the  subject  of  blasphemy 
together.  They  might  go  on  for  years  and  years  be- 
fore either  of  them  began  to  understand  what  the 
other  meant  by  the  word.  But  it  would  be  little  less 
than  a  crime  to  involve  the  simple  soul  of  Tim  Gorman 
in  the  maze  of  two  separate  kinds  of  casuistry. 

"In  any  case,"  I  said,  "I  don't  take  Mrs.  Ascher's 
view  of  the  matter.  I  don't  agree  with  her." 

"I  don't  see,"  said  Tim,  "how  cinematographs  can 
be  blasphemies  so  long  as  there  aren't  any  pictures  of 
religious  things.  I'm  sure  it  must  be  all  right  and  I 


ii8  GOSSAMER 

can  go  on  with  what  I  want  to  do.  If  I  can  succeed 
in  making  the  figures  stand  out  from  one  another,  as 
if  they  were  really  there " 

"You'll  add  a  new  terror  to  life,"  I  said.  "But  that 
needn't  stop  you  doing  it  if  you  can." 

"I  think  I  can,"  he  said  eagerly.  "You  see  it's  the 
next  thing  to  be  done.  The  cinematograph  is  perfect 
up  to  that  point.  It  must  make  a  new  start  if  it's  to 
go  any  further.  I  should  like  to  be  the  man  who 

makes  the  next  step  possible.  What's  wanted  now 
• • >  > 

"The  illusion  of  distance." 

"That's  it.  That's  what  I  mean.  It's  a  matter  of 
optics.  Just  making  a  few  adjustments,  and  I  think 
I  see  the  way  to  manage  it." 

"If  you  do,"  I  said,  "you'll  make  an  immense  for- 
tune. The  world  will  pay  anything,  absolutely  any- 
thing to  the  man  who  provides  it  with  a  new  torture. 
It's  an  odd  twist  in  human  nature — though  I  don't 
know  why  I  should  say  that.  Oddness  is  really  the 
normal  thing  in  human  nature." 

"But  I  want  a  thousand  dollars,"  said  Tim,  "or  five 
hundred  dollars  at  the  very  least.  I  must  try  experi- 
ments." 

"If  you  ask  your  brother "  I  said. 

"Michael  isn't  nice  to  me  about  it,"  said  Tim.  "He 
isn't  nice  at  all.  When  I  asked  him  for  a  thousand 
dollars  he  said  he'd  get  it  for  me  on  condition  that 
I  allowed  him  to  manage  my  cash  register  in  his  own 
way.  But  I  won't  do  that.  I  know  what  he  wants 
to  do." 


GOSSAMER  119 

"His  idea,"  he  said,  "is  to  let  your  invention  lapse." 

"I  know.  The  machine  will  never  be  made.  But  I 
want  it  to  be  made.  I  want  to  see  it  working  every- 
where all  over  the  world.  You  see  I'm  always  travel- 
ling about  with  the  circus,  sometimes  in  America, 
sometimes  in  England.  We  go  to  a  lot  of  different 
towns.  We  go  to  all  the  big  towns  there  are.  I  want 
to  be  able  to  go  into  shops  everywhere,  in  every  town 
in  the  world  and  see  my  machine  there.  Don't  you 
understand  ?" 

"Perfectly,"  I  said.  "Mrs.  Ascher  explained  the 
whole  position  to  me  thoroughly.  It's  the  artist's  soul 
in  you." 

A  look  of  puzzled  annoyance  came  over  the  boy's 
face.  His  forehead  wrinkled  and  his  fine  eyes  took 
an  expression  of  painful  doubt  as  they  met  mine. 

"Mrs.  Ascher  says  things  like  that,"  he  said,  "and 
I  don't  know  what  she  means.  I  am  not  an  artist.  I 
never  learned  to  draw,  even ;  at  least  not  pictures.  I 
can  do  geometrical  drawing,  of  course,  and  make  plans 
of  machines;  but  that's  not  being  an  artist.  I  can't 
paint.  Why  does  she  say  I  am  an  artist?" 

"That,"  I  said,  "is  one  of  her  little  mannerisms. 
You  will  have  to  put  up  with  it." 

Tim  uses  the  word  artist  in  a  simple  old-fashioned 
way,  very  much  as  Father  Bourke  uses  "blasphemy." 
There  is  a  good  deal  to  be  said  for  their  practice.  Peo- 
ple like  Mrs.  Ascher  ought  to  invent  new  terms  when 
they  want  to  express  uncommon  thoughts.  They  have 
no  right  to  borrow  words  like  "artist"  and  "blas- 
phemy" from  common  speech  in  order  to  set  them 


120  GOSSAMER 

parading  about  the  world  with  novel  meanings  at- 
tached to  them.  It  is  not  fair  to  people  like  Tim 
Gorman  and  his  Father  Bourke.  It  is  not  fair  to  the 
words  themselves.  I  should  not  like  to  be  treated  in 
that  way  if  I  were  a  word.  I  cannot  imagine  any- 
thing more  annoying  to  a  respectable,  steady-going 
word  than  to  be  called  upon  suddenly  to  undertake 
work  to  which  it  is  not  accustomed.  The  domestic 
housemaid  is  perfectly  right  in  resisting  any  effort  to 
make  her  do  new  kinds  of  work.  Her  formula,  "It's 
not  my  place,"  used  when  she  is  asked  to  make  a  slice 
of  toast,  is  unanswerable.  Why  should  words  be 
worse  treated  than  housemaids?  It  is  the  business 
of  "artist"  to  stand  for  the  man  who  paints  pictures  in 
oils.  "Blasphemy"  describes  aggravated  breaches  of 
the  third  commandment.  What  right  had  Mrs.  Ascher 
or  any  one  else  to  press  them  into  new  services? 
There  ought  to  be  a  strong  trade  union  among  words. 

"And  now,"  said  Tim,  "she  says  I'm  not  an  artist 
after  all  because  I  want  to  make  movies  more  real. 
And  she's  angry  with  me.  She  turned  me  out  of  her 
studio  because  I  wouldn't  promise  not  to.  Of  course, 
I  wouldn't  promise  such  a  thing.  I  think  I  see  how 
it  can  be  done.  The  great  difficulty  is  to  secure  an 
exact  adjustment  of  the  mirrors.  There  are  other 
difficulties.  There's  the  awkwardness  of  transparent 
figures  crossing  in  front  of  each  other.  Also " 

"My  dear  boy,"  I  said,  "don't  explain  the  thing  to 
me.  I  am  totally  incapable  of  understanding  anything 
connected  with  mechanics,  optics  or  hydrostatics." 

I  can  make  as  good  an  attempt  as  most  men  at 


GOSSAMER  121 

replying  intelligently  to  Mrs.  Ascher  even  when  she 
talks  of  "values,"  atmospheres,  feeling  and  sympathy, 
though  her  use  of  these  familiar  words  conveys  only 
the  vaguest  ideas  to  my  mind.  I  can,  after  a  period 
of  intense  mental  effort,  understand  what  Ascher 
means  by  exchanges,  premiums,  discounts  and  bills, 
though  he  uses  these  words  in  unfamiliar  ways.  But 
I  am  defeated  utterly  by  the  man  who  talks  about 
escapements,  compensating  balances  and  clutches.  I 
suspected  that  Tim  Gorman  would  pelt  me  with  even 
more  recondite  scientific  terms  if  I  let  things  go  on. 

"You  may  take  my  word  for  it,"  I  said,  "that  you'll 
get  a  thousand  dollars  and  more,  in  the  end ;  but  you 
may  have  to  wait  for  it.  In  the  meanwhile  keep  on 
thinking  out  your  plan  for  doubling  the  horrors  of  our 
places  of  popular  entertainment." 

That  was  all  I  could  do  for  Tim  Gorman.  I  do  not 
think  that  he  deserved  more  than  cold  comfort  and 
disagreeable  advice.  I  might  have  given  him,  or  lent 
him,  a  little  money,  if  he  had  been  at  work  on  a  really 
useful  invention,  something  which  would  benefit  hu- 
manity. There  are  lots  of  such  things  waiting  to  be 
invented.  There  ought  to  be  some  way  of  stabbing  a 
man  who  insists  on  ringing  you  up  on  the  telephone 
at  unreasonable  hours  and  saying  tiresome  things.  We 
cannot  claim  to  be  civilised  until  we  have  some  weapon 
for  legitimate  self  defence  attached  to  every  telephone, 
something  which  could  be  operated  easily  and  swiftly 
by  pressing  a  button  at  the  side  of  the  receiver.  It  is 
not  necessary  that  the  man  at  the  other  end  of  the 
wire  should  be  struck  dead,  but  he  ought  to  suffer 


122  GOSSAMER 

severe  physical  pain.  If  Tim  Gorman  would  turn  his 
inventive  genius  in  that  direction,  I  should  not  hesitate 
to  advance  money  to  him,  even  to  the  half  of  my 
possessions. 

I  called  on  Mrs.  Ascher  again  before  I  left  New 
York.  I  wanted  to  hear  her  version  of  the  misunder- 
standing with  Tim.  I  went,  of  course,  to  the  studio, 
not  to  the  hotel.  Mrs.  Ascher  is  at  her  best  in  the 
studio.  Besides  I  was  much  more  likely  to  find  her 
there  than  anywhere  else. 

She  was  hard  at  work  when  I  entered  on  a  figure, 
at  least  two  feet  high,  of  a  man  of  very  fine  muscular 
development.  I  glanced  at  it  and  then  asked  where 
Tim  Gorman's  head  was. 

"You  know,"  I  said,  "that  I  admired  that  piece  of 
work  greatly." 

Mrs.  Ascher  waved  her  hand  towards  a  table  in 
the  darkest  corner  of  the  room. 

"It's  not  finished,"  she  said,  "and  never  will  be. 
I've  lost  all  interest  in  it.  If  you  like  it  take  it  away. 
I'll  give  it  to  you  with  pleasure." 

I  found  poor  Tim,  not  even  swathed  in  wet  band- 
ages, among  a  litter  of  half  finished  fauns  and 
nymphs  and  several  attempts  at  a  smooth-haired  dog. 
Mrs.  Ascher  had  done  very  little  work  at  him  since 
I  saw  him  before.  She  had,  in  pursuance  of  her  own 
idea,  turned  half  the  saucer  on  which  the  head  stood 
into  a  mat  of  water-lily  leaves.  The  other  half — and 
I  felt  gratified  when  I  saw  this — was  worked  up  into 
an  unmistakable  hammer  and  a  number  of  dispro- 
portionately large  nails.  Tim's  face  and  head  still  ex- 


GOSSAMER  123 

pressed  lofty  idealism  in  the  way  which  had  fascinated 
me  when  I  first  saw  the  thing.  But  Mrs.  Ascher  had 
evidently  neglected  some  necessary  precaution  in  deal- 
ing with  her  material.  The  neck — and  Tim's  neck  is 
an  unusually  long  one — had  collapsed.  A  jagged  crack 
ran  half  round  it  close  under  the  right  ear.  The  left 
side  of  the  neck  was  curiously  crumpled.  The  head 
leaned  rakishly  towards  the  water-lily  side  of  the 
saucer. 

I  remember  hearing  once  of  an  irreverent  choir 
boy.  At  a  Christmas  party,  a  sort  of  feast  of  an  Abbot 
of  Unreason  held  in  the  less  sacred  parts  of  the  cathe- 
dral precincts,  the  brat  decorated  the  statue  of  an 
Archbishop  with  a  pink  and  blue  paper  cap  taken 
from  a  cracker.  The  effect  must  have  been  much  the 
same  as  that  produced  by  the  subsidence  of  Tim  Gor- 
man's neck. 

"Do  you  really  mean  to  give  it  to  me?"  I  said.  "I 
should  like  to  have  it  very  much.  I  should  set  it  up  on 
my  writing  table  and  call  it  'Disillusion.'  But  do  you 
think  it  will  collapse  any  more?" 

"Has  it  collapsed?  I  suppose  it  did  not  dry 
properly." 

Mrs.  Ascher  did  not  even  look  at  it. 

"Oh,"  I  said,  "the  present  effect,  the  cynical  con- 
tempt for  the  original  noble  spirituality,  is  the  result 
of  an  accident?  What  tricks  circumstances  play  on 
us !  A  slight  irregularity  in  drying  and  a  hero  becomes 
a  clown.  The  case  of  'Imperial  Caesar  dead  and 
turned  to  clay'  is  not  so  bad  as  that  of  an  idealist 
whose  neck  has  cracked." 


124  GOSSAMER 

"I'm  dreadfully  disappointed  in  that  boy,"  said  Mrs. 
Ascher.  "Will  you  forgive  me  if  I  do  not  talk  of 
him?  Even  now  I  cannot  bear  to." 

She  sighed  heavily,  showing  how  much  she  felt  the 
loss  of  Tim's  soul.  Then  she  turned  to  me  with  one 
of  those  bright  smiles,  one  of  those  charmingly  bright 
smiles,  which  are  the  greatest  achievements  of  serious 
women.  Very  religious  women,  women  with  artists' 
souls  and  the  intenser  suffragists  have  these  bright 
smiles.  They  work  them  up,  I  suppose,  so  as  to  show 
that  they  can  be  as  cheerful  as  any  one  else  when  they 
choose  to  try. 

"Come  and  see  what  I'm  doing  now,"  she  said. 

I  looked  very  carefully  at  the  man's  figure  in  front 
of  her. 

"This,"  she  said,  "is  manhood,  virility,  energy, 
simple  strength,  directness,  all  that  this  poor  neurotic 
world  is  yearning  for,  the  primal  force,  uncomplex, 
untroubled,  just  the  exultation  of  the  delight  of 
being." 

"It  reminds  me  faintly  of  some  one,"  I  said,  "the 
head  and  face,  I  mean;  but  I  can't  quite  fix  the  like- 
ness." 

She  clapped  her  hands  with  delight. 

"You  see  it,"  she  said,  "I  am  so  glad.  It's  not 
meant  to  be  a  mere  likeness.  I  need  not  tell  you  that. 
Still  I'm  glad  you  see  that  it  resembles  him.  I  am 
working  to  express  his  soul,  the  mere  features,  the 
limbs,  are  nothing.  The  being  which  burns  within, 
that  is  what  I  am  trying  to  express.  But  the  fact 
that  you  see  the  external  likeness  makes  me  feel  more 


GOSSAMER  125 

sure  that  my  interpretation  of  the  physical  features 
is  the  right  one." 

"Surely,"  I  said,  "it's  not  Gorman,  the  other  Gor- 
man, the  elder  Gorman,  Michael!" 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"Has  he  been  sitting  for  you?"  I  asked. 

I  stopped  myself  just  in  time.  I  was  very  nearly 
saying  "sitting  to  you  like  that  ?"  The  figure  on  which 
she  was  at  work  was  entirely  undraped.  I  do  not 
suppose  that  Mrs.  Ascher  would  have  been  the  least 
embarrassed  even  if  I  had  said  "like  that."  The 
artist's  soul  scorns  conventions.  But  I  should  have 
felt  awkward  if  she  had  answered  "Yes." 

"Not  exactly  sitting  to  me,"  she  said.  "He  just 
comes  here  and  talks.  While  he  talks  I  catch  glimpses 
of  his  great,  buoyant,  joyous  soul  and  fashion  the  poor 
clay  to  express  it." 

"I  did  not  know  he  was  back  in  New  York,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  yes,  he  has  been  here  a  week,  perhaps  more. 
To  me  it  seems  as  if  he  had  been  here  for  ever." 

I  could  not  even  guess  at  what  she  meant  by  that 
so  I  did  not  try  to  answer  her. 

"I  wonder  he  didn't  look  me  up,"  I  said. 

"Ah,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher,  "he  has  had  no  time.  That 
abundant,  restless  energy  of  his  is  for  ever  pressing 
out  into  fresh  activities." 

I  gathered,  more  from  her  tone  than  from  her  actual 
words  that  only  an  effete,  devitalised  creature  would 
call  on  me.  A  man  of  abundant  energy  would  nat- 
urally sit  half  the  day  in  Mrs.  Ascher's  studio,  while 
she  made  a  fancy  body  for  him  in  damp  clay. 


126  GOSSAMER 

She  clasped  her  hands  and  gazed  with  rapt  intensity 
at  the  statue  of  Gorman's  soul. 

"His  patriotism!"  she  said.  "After  living  in  that 
atmosphere  of  nebulous  cosmopolitanism  which  is 
what  we  hypercivilised  people  have  created  in  the 
world,  it  is  everything  to  get  back  to  the  barbaric 
simplicity  of  the  old  love  for  country." 

"Did  he  happen  to  mention,"  I  asked,  "whether  he 
succeeded  in  wheedling  five  thousand  dollars  out  of 
that  Detroit  man?" 

Mrs.  Ascher  did  not  hear  that;  or  if  she  did  chose 
to  ignore  it. 

"The  splendid  destiny  of  Ireland,"  she  said,  "has 
been  to  escape  age  after  age  the  malarial  fever  of 
culture.  The  Romans  never  touched  her  shores.  The 
renaissance  passed  her  by.  She  has  not  bowed  the 
knee  to  our  modern  fetish  of  education.  You  and  I 
have  our  blood  diluted  with " 

Gorman  must  have  been  at  his  very  best  while  he 
talked  to  Mrs.  Ascher.  He  had  evidently  made  a 
kind  of  whirlpool  of  her  mind.  Her  version  of  his 
philosophy  of  history  and  politics  seemed  to  me  to  be 
going  round  and  round  in  narrowing  circles  with  con- 
fusing speed.  The  conception  of  the  Romans  as 
apostles  of  the  more  malarial  kinds  of  culture  was 
new  to  me.  I  had  been  brought  up  to  believe — not 
that  any  one  does  believe  this  as  an  actual  fact — that 
Ireland  was  once  and  to  some  extent  still  is,  an  island 
of  Saints  and  Scholars.  I  did  not  obtain  any  very 
clear  idea  of  what  Mrs.  Ascher's  blood  was  diluted 
with,  but  there  must  have  been  several  ingredients,  for 


GOSSAMER  .    127 

she  went  on  talking  for  quite  a  long  time.  When  she 
stopped  I  made  a  protest  on  behalf  of  my  country. 

"We're  not  so  backward  as  all  that,"  I  said.  "We 
have  a  Board  of  National  Education  and  quite  a  large 
number  of  technical  schools.  In  the  convents  they 
teach  girls  to  play  the  piano." 

Mrs.  Ascher  shook  her  head  slowly.  I  gathered 
that  she  knew  much  more  about  Irish  education  than 
I  did  and  regarded  it  as  unworthy  even  of  serious 
contempt. 

"Dear  Ireland !"  she  said,  "splendid  Ireland !" 

I  suppose  Gorman  must  have  been  talking  to  her 
about  fairies,  the  dignified,  Celtic  kind,  and  the  dear 
dark  head  of  Kathaleen  ni  Houlihan.  Gorman  is  ca- 
pable of  anything.  However  as  my  country  was  being 
admired  I  thought  I  might  as  well  get  a  little  of  the 
credit  for  myself. 

"I  am  an  Irishman,"  I  said. 

Mrs.  Ascher  looked  at  me  with  withering  scorn. 

"You,"  she  said,  "you — you — you  are " 

She  was  evidently  in  difficulties.  I  helped  her  out 
as  best  I  could. 

"An  Irish  gentleman,"  I  said. 

"An  alien,"  she  replied,  "a  stranger  in  the  land  you 
call  your  own." 

"That,"  I  said,  "is  just  what  I  say,  put  more  forcibly 
and  picturesquely." 

Then  Gorman  came  in,  without  knocking  at  the 
door.  I  was  very  glad  to  see  him.  In  another  minute 
Mrs.  Ascher  and  I  would,  perhaps,  have  quarrelled. 
Gorman  saved  us  from  that  catastrophe.  I  do  not 


128  GOSSAMER 

think  I  ever  understood  before  that  moment  the  secret 
of  Gorman's  charm.  He  came  into  that  studio,  a  place 
charged  with  the  smell  of  damp  clay,  like  a  breeze 
from  a  nice  green  field.  He  was  in  a  thoroughly  good 
temper.  I  suspect  that  he  hurt  Mrs.  Ascher's  hand 
when  he  shook  it. 

"I've  just  been  looking  at  Mrs.  Ascher's  statue  of 
your  soul,"  I  said.  "Splendid  muscles  in  the  calves 
of  its  legs.  You  must  be  enormously  proud  of  them." 

Gorman,  under  pretence  of  seeking  a  place  in  which 
to  put  his  hat,  turned  his  back  on  Mrs.  Ascher  for  a 
minute.  As  he  did  so  he  deliberately  winked  at  me. 

Some  day  I  mean  to  get  Gorman  in  a  private  place, 
"away  from  everywhere,"  as  Mrs.  Ascher  would  say. 
When  I  get  him  there  I  shall  ask  him  two  questions 
and  insist  on  having  an  answer.  First  I  shall  ask  him 
why  he  devotes  himself  to  Mrs.  Ascher.  He  is  not 
in  love  with  her.  We  Irish  have  not  many  virtues, 
but  we  can  boast  that  we  seldom  make  love  to  other 
men's  wives.  Besides,  Mrs.  Ascher  is  not  the  kind 
of  woman  who  allows  strange  men  to  make  love  to 
her.  She  is,  in  essentials,  far  less  emancipated  than 
she  thinks.  It  is  just  possible  that  he  finds  her  respon- 
sive to  his  fondness  for  the  more  flamboyant  kinds 
of  rhetoric.  Gorman  really  likes  talking  about  Ireland 
as  an  oppressed  and  desolated  land.  It  is  easy  enough 
to  move  large  audiences  to  enthusiasm  by  that  kind 
of  oratory.  It  is  not  so  easy,  I  imagine,  to  get  single, 
sympathetic  listeners  in  private  life.  Mrs.  Ascher  ap- 
parently laps  up  patriotic  sentiment  with  loud  purrs. 
That  may  be  why  Gorman  likes  her.  The  next  thing 


GOSSAMER  129 

I  mean  to  ask  him  is  what  he  means  by  patriotism. 
I  can  understand  quite  easily  what  Irish  patriotism 
meant  ten  years  ago.  Gorman's  friends  wanted  my 
land,  a  definite,  tangible  thing.  I  wanted  it  myself. 
But  now  they  have  got  the  land,  and  yet  Gorman  goes 
on  talking  patriotism.  It  is  not  as  if  he  had  no  sense 
of  humour.  Gorman  sees  the  absurdity  of  the  things 
he  says  just  as  plainly  as  I  do.  The  ridiculous  side  of 
his  own  enthusiasm  is  never  long  absent  from  his  con- 
sciousness; yet  he  goes  on  just  the  same.  I  wish  I 
understood  how  he  manages  it. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

NOW  that  my  leg  has  been  smashed  up  hopelessly, 
by  that  wretched  German  shell,  I  shall  never 
ride  or  shoot  again.  I  have  to  content  myself  with 
writing  books  to  occupy  my  time,  a  very  poor  form  of 
amusement  compared  to  tramping  the  fields  after 
partridge.  I  suppose  it  is  inevitable  that  a  man  in  my 
position  should  indulge  in  regretful  memories.  My 
mind  goes  back  now  and  then  to  certain  days  in  my 
boyhood  and  I  find  myself  picturing  scenes  through 
which  I  shall  not  move  again. 

There  are  fields  stretching  back  from  the  demesne 
which  used  to  be  mine.  In  the  autumn  many  of  them 
were  stubble  fields  and  among  them  were  gorse  cov- 
ered hills.  I  used  to  go  through  them  with  my  gun 
and  dogs  in  early  October  mornings.  There  were — 
no  doubt  there  still  are — though  I  shall  not  see  them — 
very  fine  threads  of  gossamer  stretching  across  aston- 
ishingly wide  spaces.  The  dew  hung  on  them  in  tiny 
drops  and  glittered  when  the  sun  rose  clear  of  the 
light  mist  and  shone  on  them.  Sometimes  the  threads 
floated  free  in  the  air,  attached  to  some  object  at  one 
end,  the  rest  borne  about  by  faint  breaths  of  wind, 
waved  to  and  fro,  seeking  other  attachment  elsewhere. 
Some  threads  reached  from  tufts  of  grass  to  little 
hummocks  or  to  the  twigs  which  form  the  boles  of 

130 


GOSSAMER  131 

elm  trees.  Others  still,  with  less  ambitious  span,  went 
only  from  one  blade  of  grass  to  another  or  united  the 
thorns  of  whin  bushes.  The  lower  air,  near  the  earth, 
was  full  of  these  threads.  They  formed  an  indescrib- 
ably delicate  net  cast  right  over  the  fields  and  hills.  I 
used  to  see  them  glistening,  rainbow  coloured  when 
the  sun  rays  struck  them.  Oftener  I  was  aware  of 
their  presence  only  when  my  hands  had  touched 
and  broken  them  or  when  they  clung  to  my  clothes, 
dragged  from  their  fastenings  by  my  passing  through 
them. 

I  have  no  idea  what  place  these  gossamer  threads 
occupy  in  the  economy  of  nature.  I  find  it  difficult  to 
believe  that  the  life  of  the  fields  and  gorsy  hills  and 
young  plantations  would  be  either  better  or  worse  if 
there  were  no  such  thing  as  gossamer.  But  I  am  no 
longer  contented  with  my  ignorance.  I  mean  to  find 
out  all  that  is  known  about  gossamer,  and  satisfy 
myself  of  the  truth  of  the  tradition  that  the  threads 
are  spun  by  tiny  spiders,  though  surely  with  very  little 
hope  of  snaring  flies. 

I  spent  six  months  making  the  tour  which  Ascher 
planned  for  me.  I  returned  to  London  in  the  spring 
of  1914,  full  of  interest  in  what  I  had  seen  and  learned. 
I  intend  some  day  to  write  a  book  of  travels,  to  give 
an  account  of  my  experiences.  I  shall  describe  the 
long  strip  of  the  world  over  which  I  wandered  as  a 
landscape  on  a  quiet  autumn  morning,  netted  over 
with  gossamer.  That  is  the  way  it  strikes  me  now, 
looking  back  on  it  all.  Ascher  and  men  like  him  have 
spun  fine  threads,  covering  every  civilised  land  with 


132  GOSSAMER 

a  web  of  credit,  infinitely  complex,  so  delicate  that  a 
child's  hand  could  tear  it. 

A  storm,  even  a  strong  breeze  comes,  and  the 
threads  are  dragged  from  their  holdings  and  waved 
in  wild  confusion  through  the  air.  A  man,  brutal 
as  war,  goes  striding  through  the  land,  and,  without 
knowing  what  he  does,  bursts  the  filaments  and  de- 
stroys the  shimmering  beauty  which  was  before  he 
came.  That,  I  suppose,  is  what  happens.  But  the 
passing  of  a  man,  however  violent  he  is,  is  the  pass- 
ing of  a  man  and  no  more.  Even  if  a  troop  of  men 
marches  across  the  land  their  marching  is  over  and 
done  with  soon.  They  have  their  day,  but  afterwards 
there  are  other  days.  Nature  is  infinitely  persistent 
and  gossamer  is  spun  again. 

I  remember  meeting,  quite  by  chance,  on  a  coasting 
steamer  on  which  I  travelled,  a  bishop.  He  was  not, 
judged  by  strict  ecclesiastical  standards,  quite  entitled 
to  that  rank.  He  belonged  to  some  American  religious 
organisation  of  which  I  had  no  knowledge,  but  he 
called  himself,  on  the  passenger  list,  Bishop  Zacchary 
Brown.  He  was  apostolic  in  his  devotion  to  the 
Gospel  as  he  understood  it.  His  particular  field  of 
work  lay  in  the  northern  part  of  South  America.  He 
ranged,  so  I  understood,  through  Ecuador,  Colombia 
and  Venezuela.  He  was  full  of  hope  for  the  future 
of  these  lands,  their  spiritual  future.  I  had  long 
talks  with  him  and  discovered  that  he  regarded  educa- 
tion, the  American  form  of  it,  and  commerce,  the 
fruit  of  American  enterprise,  as  the  enemies  of  super- 
stition and  consequently  the  handmaids  of  the  Gospel. 


GOSSAMER  133 

He  wanted  to  see  schools  and  colleges  scattered  over 
the  republic  in  which  he  was  interested.  He  wanted 
to  see  these  lands  heavily  fertilised  with  capital. 

"If  you  have  any  spare  money,"  he  said,  "put  it 
into " 

"I  think  he  said  fruit  farming  in  Colombia.  What- 
ever the  business  was — I  forgot  at  the  time  to  make 
a  note  of  the  particulars — he  promised  that  it  would 
develop  enormously  when  the  Panama  Canal  was 
opened.  The  advice  may  have  been  perfectly  sound; 
but  I  do  not  think  it  was  disinterested.  Bishop  Zac- 
chary  Brown  was  not  anxious  about  my  future  or  my 
fortune.  He  did  not  care,  cannot  have  cared,  whether 
the  Panama  Canal  made  me  rich  or  not.  Nor  did  it 
seem  to  him  an  important  thing  that  the  fruit  trade 
of  South  America  should  develop.  What  he  cared 
for  was  his  conception  of  religion.  He  saw  in  the 
inflow  of  capital  the  way  of  triumph  for  his  Gospel, 
the  means  of  breaking  up  old  careless,  lazy  creeds, 
the  infusion  of  energy  and  love  of  freedom.  Ascher, 
so  I  conceived  the  situation,  was  to  stretch  his  threads 
from  Calvary  to  the  grapefruit  trees  of  Cartagena. 

At  Bahia  I  was  introduced  to  a  Brazilian  states- 
man. I  met  him  first  at  the  house  of  one  of  Ascher's 
banker  friends.  We  talked  to  each  other  in  French, 
and,  as  we  both  spoke  the  language  badly,  under- 
stood each  other  without  much  difficulty.  It  is  one 
of  the  peculiarities  of  the  French  language  that  the 
worse  it  is  spoken  the  easier  it  is  to  understand.  A 
real  Parisian  baffles  me  completely.  My  Brazilian 
statesman  was  almost  always  intelligible. 


134  GOSSAMER 

He  was  interested  in  international  politics,  the  inter- 
national politics  of  the  western  hemisphere.  I  found 
that  he  was  distrustful  of  the  growing  power  of  the 
United  States.  He  suspected  a  policy  of  Empire,  a 
far-reaching  scheme  of  influence,  if  not  actual  do- 
minion, centred  in  Washington.  He  regarded  the 
Monroe  Doctrine  as  the  root  from  which  such  an 
extension  of  power  might  grow.  It  was  no  business 
of  mine  to  argue  with  him,  though  I  am  convinced 
that  the  citizens  of  the  United  States  are  of  all  peo- 
ples the  least  obsessed  by  the  imperial  idea.  I  tried, 
by  looking  sympathetic,  to  induce  him  to  develop  his 
theory.  In  the  end  I  gathered  that  he  hoped  for 
security  from  the  imperial  peril  through  the  increase  of 
wealth  and  therefore  power  in  the  South  American 
republics. 

"Our  natural  resources,"  he  said,  "are  enormous, 
but  undeveloped.  We  cannot  become  strong  in  a  mili- 
tary sense.  We  cannot  possess  fleets  with  which  to 
negotiate " 

I  should  have  said  "threaten"  instead  of  "negotiate" 
for  that  was  plainly  what  he  meant.  But  statesmen 
have  to  be  careful  in  their  use  of  words. 

" — Unless  we  can  obtain  capital  with  which  to 
develop  our  wealth.  The  great  money-lending  coun- 
tries, England  and  France,  ought  in  their  own  interests 
to  pour  capital  into  our  republics.  The  return,  in  the 
end,  would  be  enormous.  But  more  important  still, 
they  would  establish  a  balance  of  power  in  the  western 
world.  Why  do  not  your  financiers  understand?" 

Again  Ascher.     Battleships  are  to  be  towed  across 


GOSSAMER  135 

the  ocean,  from  the  ship  yards  of  the  Clyde  to  these 
far-off  seas,  at  the  ends  of  the  gossamer  threads  which 
Ascher  spins.  The  Gospel  and  international  politics 
are  caught  in  the  same  web.  I  seemed  to  see  Dio- 
cletian the  Emperor  and  Saint  John,  who  said,  "Love 
not  the  world,"  doing  homage  together  to  the  power  of 
capital,  leading  each  other  by  the  hand  through  the 
mazes  of  the  system  of  credit. 

I  saw  beautiful  scenes,  wide  harbours  where  stately 
ships  lay  anchored,  through  whose  shining  gates  fleets 
of  steamers  trudged.  I  never  escaped  from  the 
knowledge  that  the  gossamer  threads  stretched  from 
mast  to  mast,  a  rigging  more  essential  than  the  ropes 
of  hemp  and  wire.  I  saw  the  lines  of  steel  on  which 
trains  go,  stretched  out  across  vast  prairies,  and  knew 
that  they  were  not  in  reality  lines  of  steel  at  all  but 
gossamer  threads.  I  saw  torrents  made  the  slaves 
of  man,  the  weight  of  falling  water  transmuted  into 
light  and  heat  and  force  to  drive  cars  swiftly  through 
city  streets;  but  all  the  wheels  and  giant  masses  of 
forged  steel  were  tied  together  by  these  same  slender 
threads  which  Ascher  spun  in  the  shrine  of  that  Greek 
temple  of  his,  Ascher  and  his  fellow  bankers. 

Always  the  desire  was  for  more  capital.  There  was 
room  for  thousands  of  ships  instead  of  hundreds. 
There  were  whole  territories  over  which  no  trains 
ran.  There  was  potentiality  of  wealth  so  great  that, 
if  it  were  realised,  men  everywhere  would  be  raised 
above  the  fear  of  want.  A  whole  continent  was  cry- 
ing out  to  Ascher  that  he  should  fling  his  web  across 
it,  join  point  to  point  with  gossamer,  in  Amazonian 


136  GOSSAMER 

jungles,  Peruvian  mountain  heights,  Argentine  plains 
and  tropical  fruit  gardens. 

I  met  and  talked  with  many  men  whose  outlook 
upon  life  was  profoundly  interesting  to  me.  Those 
whom  I  came  to  know  best  were  Englishmen  or  men 
of  English  origin.  Some  of  them  had  built  up  flour- 
ishing businesses,  selling  the  products  of  English  fac- 
tories. Some  acted  as  the  agents  of  steamboat  com- 
panies, arranging  for  freights  and  settling  the  destina- 
tions of  ships  which  went  voyaging.  Some  grew  wheat 
or  bred  cattle.  Like  all  Englishmen  whose  lot  is  cast 
in  far  countries  they  retained  their  feeling  for  Eng- 
land as  a  home  and  became  conscious  as  Englishmen 
in  England  seldom  are,  of  love  for  their  own  land. 
Like  all  Englishmen  they  grumbled  ceaselessly  at  what 
they  loved. 

They  spoke  with  contempt  of  everything  English. 
They  abused  English  business  methods  and  com- 
plained that  Germans  were  ousting  Englishmen  from 
the  markets  of  the  world.  They  derided  English 
Government  and  English  statesmanship,  ignoring  party 
loyalties  with  a  fine  impartiality.  They  decried  Eng- 
lish social  customs,  contrasting  the  freedom  of  life  in 
the  land  of  their  adoption  with  the  convention-bound 
ways  of  their  home.  Yet  it  always  was  their  home.  I 
felt  that,  even  when  their  contempt  expressed  itself  in 
the  bitterest  words. 

Whatever  their  opinions  were  or  their  affectations, 
however  widely  their  various  activities  were  separated, 
these  men  were  all  consciously  dependent  on  the 
smooth  working  of  the  system  of  world-wide  credit. 


GOSSAMER  137 

They  were  Ascher's  clients,  or  if  not  Ascher's,  the 
clients  of  others  like  Ascher.  They  were  in  a  sense 
Ascher's  dependents.  They  were  united  to  England, 
to  Europe,  to  each  other,  by  Ascher's  threads. 
Whether  they  bred  cattle  and  sold  them,  whether  they 
grew  corn,  whether  they  shipped  cargoes  or  imported 
merchandise,  the  gossamer  net  was  over  them. 

I  returned  to  London  with  these  impressions  vivid 
in  my  mind,  perhaps — I  tried  to  persuade  myself  of 
this — too  vivid.  I  had  travelled,  so  I  argued,  under 
the  shadow  of  a  great  banker.  I  had  gone  among 
bankers.  It  was  natural,  inevitable,  that  I  should  see 
the  world  through  bankers'  eyes.  Perhaps  credit  was 
not  after  all  the  life  blood  of  our  civilisation.  I  failed 
to  convince  myself.  The  very  fact  that  I  could  go 
so  far  under  the  shadow  of  a  bank  proves  how  large 
a  shadow  a  bank  throws.  The  fact  that  Ascher's 
correspondents  brought  me  into  touch  with  every  kind 
of  man,  goes  to  show  that  banking  has  permeated, 
leavened  life,  that  human  society  is  saturated  with 
finance. 

In  a  very  few  months,  before  the  end  of  the  sum- 
mer which  followed  my  home-coming,  I  was  to  see 
the  whole  machine  stop  working  suddenly.  The  war 
god  stalked  across  the  world  and  brushed  aside,  broke, 
tore,  tangled  up,  the  gossamer  threads.  Then,  long 
before  his  march  was  done,  while  awe-struck  men  and 
weeping  women  still  listened  to  the  strident  clamour 
of  his  arms,  the  spinners  of  the  webs  were  at  work 
again,  patiently  joining  broken  threads,  flinging  fresh 
filaments  across  unbridged  gulfs,  refastening  to  their 


138  GOSSAMER 

points  of  attachment  the  gossamer  which  seemed  so 
frail,  which  yet  the  storm  of  violence  failed  to  destroy 
utterly. 


CHAPTER   X. 

T REACHED  home  early  in  May  and  underwent  an 
-*•  experience  common,  I  suppose,  to  all  travellers. 

The  city  clerk,  returning  after  a  glorious  week  in 
Paris,  finds  that  his  family  is  still  interested  in  the 
peculiarities  of  the  housemaid,  the  Maud,  or  Ethel  of 
the  hour.  To  him,  with  his  heart  enlarged  by  nightly 
visits  to  the  Folies  Bergeres,  it  seems  at  first  almost 
impossible  that  any  one  can  care  to  talk  for  hours 
about  the  misdeeds  of  Maud.  He  knows  that  he  him- 
self was  once  excited  over  these  domestic  problems, 
but  it  seems  impossible  that  he  ever  can  be  again. 
Yet  he  is.  A  week  passes,  a  week  of  the  old  familiar 
life.  The  voluptuous  joys  of  Parisian  music  halls 
fade  into  dim  memories.  The  realities  of  life,  the 
things  on  which  his  mind  works,  are  the  new  lace 
curtains  for  the  drawing-room  window,  the  ridiculous 
"swank"  of  young  Jones  in  the  office,  and  the  question 
of  the  dismissal  of  Maud  the  housemaid. 

I  found  London  humming  with  excitement  over 
Irish  affairs  and  for  a  while  I  wondered  how  any  one 
could  think  that  Irish  affairs  mattered  in  the  least. 
Fresh  from  my  wanderings  over  a  huge  continent  Ire- 
land seemed  to  me  a  small  place.  It  took  me  a  week 
to  get  my  mind  into  focus  again.  Then  I  began  once 
more  to  see  the  Home  Rule  question  as  it  should  be 

139 


GOSSAMER 

seen.  South  America  and  Ascher's  web  of  interna- 
tional credit  sank  into  their  proper  insignificance. 

I  met  Malcolmson  in  my  club  a  week  after  my 
return.  He  very  nearly  pulled  the  buttons  off  my 
waistcoat  in  his  eagerness  to  explain  the  situation  to 
me.  Malcolmson  has  a  vile  habit  of  grabbing  the 
clothes  of  any  one  he  particularly  wants  to  speak  to. 
If  the  subject  is  only  moderately  interesting  he  pulls 
a  sleeve  or  a  lappet  of  a  coat.  When  he  has  some- 
thing very  important  to  say,  he  inserts  two  fingers  be- 
tween the  buttons  of  your  waistcoat  and  pulls.  I 
knew  I  was  in  for  something  thrilling  when  he  towed 
me  into  a  quiet  corner  of  the  smoking  room  by  my  two 
top  buttons. 

I  have  known  Malcolmson  for  nearly  twenty  years. 
He  was  adjutant  of  my  old  regiment  when  I  joined. 
He  was  senior  Major  when  I  resigned  my  commission. 
He  became  colonel  a  few  years  later  and  then  retired 
to  his  place  near  Belfast,  where  he  has  practised 
political  Protestanism  ever  since.  I  have  never  met 
any  one  more  sincere  than  Malcolmson.  He  believes 
in  civil  and  religious  liberty.  He  is  prepared  at  any 
moment  to  do  battle  for  his  faith.  I  do  not  know  that 
he  really  deserves  much  credit  for  this,  because  he  is 
the  sort  of  man  who  would  do  battle  for  the  love 
of  it,  even  if  there  were  no  faith  to  be  fought  for. 
Still  the  fact  remains  that  he  has  a  faith,  rather  a  rare 
possession. 

When  he  had  me  cornered  near  the  window  of  the 
smoking  room,  he  told  me  that  the  hour  of  battle  had 
almost  come.  Ulster  was  drilled,  more  or  less  armed, 


GOSSAMER  141 

and  absolutely  united.  Rather  than  endure  Home 
Rule  Malcolmson  and,  I  think,  a  hundred  thousand 
other  men  were  going  to  lay  down  their  lives.  It 
took  Malcolmson  more  than  an  hour  to  tell  me  that 
because  he  kept  wandering  from  the  main  point  in 
order  to  abuse  the  Government  and  the  Irish  Party. 
Of  the  two  he  seemed  to  dislike  the  Government  more. 

Irish  politics  are  of  all  subjects  the  most  wearisome 
to  me;  but  I  must  admit  that  Malcolmson  interested 
me  before  he  stopped  talking.  I  began  to  wish  to  hear 
what  Gorman  had  to  say  about  the  matter.  I  could 
not  imagine  that  he  and  his  friends  contemplated  a 
siege  of  Belfast,  to  rank  in  history  alongside  of  the 
famous  attempt  to  starve  Derry. 

There  was  no  difficulty  about  getting  hold  of  Gor- 
man. In  times  of  furious  political  excitement  he  is 
sure  to  be  found  at  the  post  of  duty,  that  is  to  say, 
in  the  smoking  room  of  the  House  of  Commons.  I 
wrote  to  him  and  invited  him  to  dine  with  me  in  my 
rooms.  It  would  have  been  much  more  convenient  to 
give  him  dinner  at  one  of  my  clubs.  But  I  was  afraid 
to  do  that.  I  belonged  to  two  clubs  in  London  and 
unfortunately  Malcolmson  is  a  member  of  both  of 
them.  I  do  not  know  what  would  have  happened  if 
he  had  found  himself  in  the  same  room  with  Gorman. 
The  threatened  civil  war  might  have  begun  prema- 
turely, and  Malcolmson  is  such  a  determined  warrior 
that  a  table  fork  might  easily  have  become  a  lethal 
weapon  in  his  hands.  I  did  not  want  to  have  Gorman 
killed  before  I  hoard  his  opinion  about  the  Ulster 
situation  and  I  disliked  the  thought  of  having  to  ex- 


142  GOSSAMER 

plain  the  circumstances  of  his  death  to  the  club  com- 
mittee afterwards.  There  is  always  an  uncertainty 
about  the  view  which  a  club  committee  will  take  of  any 
unusual  event.  I  might  very  easily  have  been  asked  to 
resign  my  membership. 

Gorman  accepted  my  invitation,  but  said  he  would 
have  to  be  back  in  the  House  of  Commons  at  9  o'clock. 
I  fixed  dinner  for  half  past  seven,  which  gave  me 
nearly  an  hour  and  a  half  with  Gorman,  more  time 
than  Malcolmson  had  required  to  state  his  side  of  the 
case. 

But  Gorman  was  very  much  more  difficult  to  deal 
with.  He  was  not  inclined  to  discuss  Home  Rule  or 
the  Ulster  situation.  He  wanted  to  talk  about  Tim's 
cash  register,  and,  later  on,  about  the  new  way  of 
putting  cinematograph  pictures  on  the  stage. 

"I  have  been  wandering  about  since  I  saw  you  last," 
I  said,  "and  I've  been  in  all  sorts  of  strange  places. 
I've  lost  touch  with  things  at  home.  Hardly  ever  saw 
an  English  newspaper.  I  want  you  to  tell  me " 

"Interesting  time  you  must  have  had,"  said  Gorman. 
"Run  across  the  trail  of  our  friend  Ascher  much?  I 
expect  you  did." 

Gorman  very  nearly  sidetracked  me  there.  I  was 
strongly  tempted  to  tell  him  about  the  impression 
which  Ascher's  gossamer  had  made  on  me. 

"The  slime  of  the  financier,"  said  Gorman,  "lies 
pretty  thick  over  the  world.  You've  seen  those  large 
black  slugs  which  come  out  in  summer  after  rain,  big 
juicy  fellows  which  crawl  along  and  leave  a  shiny 
track  on  the  grass.  They're  financiers." 


GOSSAMER  143 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "quite  so.  But  tell  me  about  Home 
Rule." 

"It's  all  right.  Can't  help  becoming  law.  We  have 
it  in  our  pockets." 

"This  time  next  year,"  I  said,  "you'll  be  sitting  in 
a  Parliament  in  Dublin." 

"There'll  be  a  Parliament  in  Dublin  all  right  this 
time  next  year;  but  I'm  not  sure  that  I'll  be  in  it. 
After  all,  you  know,  Dublin's  rather  a  one-horse  place. 
I  don't  see  how  I  could  very  well  live  there.  I  might 
run  over  for  an  important  debate  now  and  then, 

but You  see  I've  a  lot  of  interests  in  London. 

I  suppose  you've  heard  about  the  new  Cash  Register 
Company  and  what  Ascher's  done." 

"Not  a  word.    Do  I  still  hold  those  shares  of  mine  ?" 

"Unless  you've  sold  them  you  do,  but  they'll  be 
very  little  good  to  you.  Ascher  has  simply  thrown 
away  a  sure  thing.  We  might  have  had — well,  I 
needn't  mention  the  sum,  but  it  was  a  pretty  big  one. 
I  had  the  whole  business  arranged.  Those  fellows 
would  have  paid  up.  But  nothing  would  do  Ascher 
except  to  put  in  his  spoon.  I'm  blest  if  I  see  what 
his  game  is.  He  has  one  of  course ;  but  I  don't  see  it." 

"Perhaps,"  I  said,  "he  wants  to  have  your  brother's 
invention  worked  for  what  it's  worth." 

"Rot,"  said  Gorman.  "Why  should  he?  I  expect 
he  has  some  dodge  for  squeezing  us  out  and  then  get- 
ting a  bigger  price  all  for  himself ;  but  I'm  damned  if 
I  see  how  he  means  to  work  it.  These  financial  men 
are  as  cunning  as  Satan  and  they  all  hang  together. 
We  outsiders  don't  have  a  chance." 


144  GOSSAMER 

"What  about  Ulster?"  I  said.  "I  was  talking  to  a 
man  last  week  who  told  me " 

"All  bluff,"  said  Gorman.  "Nothing  in  it.  How 
can  they  do  anything?  What  Ascher  says  is  that  he 
wants  the  old  company  to  take  up  Tim's  invention 
and  work  it.  There's  to  be  additional  capital  raised, 
and  we're  to  come  in  as  shareholders.  Ascher,  Stutz 
&  Co.  will  underwrite  the  new  issues  and  take  three 
and  one-half  per  cent.  That's  what  he  says.  But, 
of  course,  that's  not  the  real  game.  There's  some- 
thing behind." 

"Doesn't  it  occur  to  you  that  there  may  be  something 
behind  the  Ulster  movement  too  ?" 

"No.  What  can  they  do?  The  Bill  will  be  law 
before  the  end  of  July." 

"They  say  they'll  fight." 

"Oh,"  said  Gorman,  "we've  heard  all  about  that 
till  we're  sick  of  the  sound  of  it.  There's  nothing  in 
it.  The  thing's  as  plain  as  anything  can  be.  We  have 
a  majority  in  Parliament  and  the  bill  will  be  passed. 
That's  all  there  is  to  say.  I  wish  to  goodness  I  saw 
my  way  as  plainly  in  the  cash  register  affair." 

Gorman's  faith  in  parliamentary  majorities  is  ex- 
tremely touching.  I  suppose  that  only  politicians  be- 
lieve that  the  voting  of  men  who  are  paid  to  vote  really 
affects  things.  I  doubt  whether  men  of  any  other 
profession  have  the  same  whole-hearted  faith  in  the 
efficacy  of  their  own  craft.  Doctors  are  often  a  little 
sceptical  about  the  value  of  medicines  and  operations. 
No  barrister,  that  I  ever  met,  thinks  he  achieves  jus- 
tice by  arguing  points  of  law.  But  politicians,  even 


GOSSAMER  145 

quite  intelligent  politicians  like  Gorman,  seem  really  to 
hold  that  human  life  will  be  altered  in  some  way  be- 
cause they  walk  round  the  lobbies  of  a  particular 
building  in  London  and  have  their  heads  counted  three 
or  four  times  an  hour.  To  me  it  seemed  quite  plain 
that  Malcolmson  would  not  bate  an  ounce  of  his  devo- 
tion to  civil  and  religious  liberty  even  if  Gorman's 
head  were  counted  every  five  minutes  for  ten  years 
and  Gorman  were  paid  a  thousand  a  year  instead  of 
four  hundred  a  year  for  letting  out  his  head  for  the 
purpose.  Why  should  Malcolmson  care  how  often 
Gorman  is  counted?  There  is  in  the  end  only  the 
original  Gorman  with  his  single  head. 

"Anyhow,"  said  Gorman,  "I'm  keeping  in  with  Mrs. 
Ascher." 

He  winked  at  me  as  he  said  this.  I  like  Gorman's 
way  of  adding  explanatory  winks  to  his  remarks.  I 
should  frequently  miss  the  meaning,  the  full  meaning 
of  what  he  says  if  he  did  not  help  out  his  words  with 
these  expressive  winks.  This  time  he  made  me  under- 
stand that  he  had  no  great  affection  for  Mrs.  Ascher, 
regarded  her  rather  as  a  joke  which  had  worn  thin; 
but  hoped  to  pick  up  from  her  some  information  about 
her  husband's  subtle  schemes.  I  knew  his  hopes  were 
vain.  In  the  first  place  the  Aschers  do  not  talk  busi- 
ness to  each  other  and  she  knows  nothing  of  what 
he  is  doing.  In  the  next  place  Ascher  had  no  under- 
hand plot  with  regard  to  the  cash  register.  He  was 
acting  in  a  perfectly  open  and  straightforward  way. 
But  Gorman  cannot  believe  that  any  one  is  straight- 
forward. That  is  one  of  the  drawbacks  to  the  pro- 


146  GOSSAMER 

fession  of  politics.  The  practice  of  it  destroys  a 
man's  faith  in  human  honesty. 

"How's  Tim?"  I  asked.  "Last  time  I  saw  him  he 
was  in  great  trouble  because  Mrs.  Ascher  said  he  was 
committing  blasphemy." 

"Tim's  in  England,"  said  Gorman.  "I  was  rather 
angry  with  him  myself  for  a  while.  If  he  had  fol- 
lowed my  advice  about  the  cash  register .  But  Tim 

always  was  a  fool  about  money,  though  he  has  brains 
of  a  sort,  lots  of  them." 

"Still  working  with  that  circus?" 

"Oh,  dear  no.  Left  that  months  ago.  He  got  some 
money.  No,  I  didn't  give  it  to  him.  I  fancy  it  must 
have  been  Ascher.  Anyhow  he's  got  it.  He's  down' 
in  Hertfordshire  now,  living  in  a  barn." 

"Why?  A  barn  seems  an  odd  place  to  live  in. 
Draughty,  I  should  think." 

"He  wanted  space,"  said  Gorman,  "a  great  deal  of 
space  to  work  at  his  experiments.  I'm  inclined  to 
think  there  may  be  something  in  this  new  idea  of 
his." 

"The  living  picture  idea  ?  Making  real  ghosts  of  the 
figures  ?" 

"That's  it.  And,  do  you  know,  he's  getting  at  it. 
He  showed  me  some  perfectly  astonishing  results  the 
other  day.  If  he  pulls  it  off " 

"You  won't  let  Ascher  get  hold  of  it  this  time,"  I 
said. 

Gorman  frowned. 

"I  wouldn't  let  Ascher  touch  it  if  I  could  help  it, 
but  what  the  devil  can  I  do?  We  shall  want  capital 


GOSSAMER  147 

and  I  suppose  Ascher  is  no  worse  than  the  rest  of 
them." 

By  "them"  Gorman  evidently  meant  capitalists  in 
general  and  financiers  in  particular. 

"That's  the  way,"  he  said.  "Not  only  do  these 
scoundrels  control  politics,  reducing  the  whole  system 
of  democracy  to  a  farce " 

"Come  now,"  I  said,  "don't  blame  the  capitalists 
for  that.  Democracy  would  be  a  farce  if  there  never 
was  such  a  thing  as  a  capitalist." 

"Not  content  with  that,"  said  Gorman,  "they  keep 
an  iron  grip  upon  industry.  They  fatten  on  the  fruits 
of  other  men's  brains.  They  hold  the  working  man  in 
thrall,  exploiting  his  energy  for  their  own  selfish  greed, 
starving  his  women  and  children " 

Gorman  ought  to  keep  that  sort  of  thing  for  public 
meetings.  It  is  thoroughly  bad  form  to  make  speeches 
to  an  audience  of  one.  I  must  say  that  he  seldom 
does.  I  suppose  that  his  intimate  association  with 
Mrs.  Ascher  had  spoiled  his  manners  in  this  respect. 
She  encouraged  him  to  be  oratorical.  But  I  am  not 
Mrs.  Ascher,  and  I  saw  no  reason  why  I  should  stand 
that  kind  of  thing  at  my  own  dinner  table. 

"But  the  day  is  coming,"  I  said,  "when  organised 
labour  will  rise  in  its  might  and  claim  its  heritage  in 
the  fair  world  which  lies  bathed  in  the  sunlight  of  a 
nobler  age." 

Gorman  looked  at  me  doubtfully  for  an  instant,  only 
for  a  single  instant.  Almost  immediately  his  eyes 
twinkled  and  he  smiled  good-humouredly. 

"You  ought  to  go  in  for  politics,"  he  said.     "You 


148  GOSSAMER 

really  ought.  I  apologise.  Can't  think  what  came 
over  me  to  talk  like  that." 

I  cannot  resist  Gorman  when  he  smiles.  I  felt  that 
I  too  owed  an  apology. 

"After  all,"  I  said,  "you  must  practise  somewhere. 
I  don't  blame  you  in  the  least ;  though  I  don't  profess 
to  like  it.  No  one  can  do  that  sort  of  thing  extempore 
and  if  it  happens  to  suit  you  to  rehearse  at  dinner " 

"Nonsense,"  said  Gorman.  "There's  not  the  slight- 
est necessity  for  practice.  I  could  do  it  by  the  hour 
and  work  sums  in  my  head  at  the  same  time.  Any 
one  could." 

Gorman  is  modest.  Very  few  people  can  make 
speeches  like  his,  fortunately  for  the  world. 

"All  the  same,"  he  said,  reverting  abruptly  to  the 
starting  point  of  his  speech,  "it's  a  pity  we  have  to  let 
Ascher  into  this  new  cinematograph  racket;  but  we 
can't  help  it.  In  fact  I  expect  he's  in  already." 

"Lending  money  to  Tim  for  experiments?" 

"He  wouldn't  do  that,"  said  Gorman,  "unless  he'd 
made  sure  of  his  share  of  the  spoil  afterwards." 

"Gorman,"  I  said,  "why  don't  you  make  a  law  to 
suppress  Ascher.  You  believe  in  making  laws,  and, 
according  to  your  own  showing,  that  would  be  a  very 
useful  one." 

Gorman  gave  me  no  answer.  I  knew  he  could  not, 
because  there  is  no  answer  to  give.  If  laws  had  any 
effect  on  life,  as  Gorman  pretends  to  believe,  he  would 
make  one  which  would  do  away  with  Ascher.  But  he 
knows  in  his  heart  that  he  might  just  as  well  make  a 
law  forbidding  the  wind  to  blow  from  the  east.  In- 


GOSSAMER  149 

stead  of  taking  any  notice  of  my  question  he  pulled 
out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it. 

"Nine  o'clock,"  he  said.  "I  must  be  off  to  the  House 
at  once.  An  important  division  has  been  arranged  for 
a  quarter  past.  Just  ask  your  man  to  call  a  taxi, 
will  you?" 

"Why  go?"  I  said.  "If  the  division  is  arranged  the 
result  will  be  arranged  too." 

"Of  course  it  is,"  said  Gorman.  "You  don't  suppose 
the  Whips  leave  that  to  chance." 

"I  must  say  you  manage  these  things  very  badly. 
Here  you  are  smoking  comfortably  after  dinner,  not 
in  the  least  inclined  to  stir,  and  yet  you  say  you  have 
to  go.  Why  don't  you  introduce  a  system  of  writing 
cheques?  'Pay  the  Whip  of  my  Party  or  bearer  150 
votes.  Signed  Michael  Gorman,  M.  P.' " 

"That's  rather  a  good  idea,"  said  Gorman.  "It 
would  save  a  lot  of  trouble." 

"The  cheque  could  be  passed  in  to  some  sort  of 
clearing  house  where  a  competent  clerk,  after  going 
over  all  the  cheques,  would  strike  a  balance  and  place 
it  to  the  credit  of  your  side  or  the  other.  That  would 
be  the  Government's  Majority,  and  you  wouldn't  have 
to  go  near  the  House  of  Commons  at  all  except  when 
you  wanted  to  make  a  speech.  I  don't  think  you  need 
go  even  then.  You  might  make  your  speeches  quietly 
in  your  own  home  to  a  couple  of  reporters." 

"It  would  simplify  parliamentary  life  enormously," 
said  Gorman,  "there's  no  doubt  of  that.  But  I  don't 
think  it  would  do.  I  don't  really.  The  people  wouldn't 
stand  it." 


150  GOSSAMER 

"If  the  people  stand  the  way  you  go  on  at  present 
they'll  stand  anything." 

"I  wish,"  said  Gorman,  "that  you'd  ring  for  a  taxi." 
I  rang  the  bell  and  five  minutes  later  Gorman  left 
me.  He  had  not  told  me  anything  about  Home  Rule, 
or  how  his  party  meant  to  deal  with  a  recalcitrant 
Ulster.  He  seemed  very  little  interested  in  Ulster. 
Yet  Malcolmson  was  indubitably  in  earnest.  I  felt 
perfectly  sure  about  that. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

I  INTENDED  to  call  on  the  Aschers  as  soon  as  I 
could  after  I  returned  to  London.  I  owed  Ascher 
some  thanks  for  his  kindness  in  providing  me  with  let- 
ters of  introduction  for  my  tour.  However,  they  heard 
that  I  was  home  again  before  I  managed  to  pay  my 
visit.  I  daresay  Gorman  told  them.  He  sees  Mrs. 
Ascher  two  or  three  times  a  week  and  he  must  get 
tired  talking  about  Ireland.  A  little  item  of  gossip, 
like  the  news  of  my  return,  would  come  as  a  relief  to 
Gorman,  and  perhaps  even  to  Mrs.  Ascher,  after  a 
long  course  of  poetic  politics  mixed  with  art. 

I  had  a  note  from  Mrs.  Ascher,  in  which  she  in- 
vited me  to  dinner. 

"Very  quietly,"  she  said.  "I  know  my  husband 
would  like  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  so  I  shall  not  ask 
any  one  to  meet  you.  Please  fix  your  own  night.  We 
have  no  engagements  this  week." 

I  got  the  note  on  Monday  and  fixed  Wednesday  for 
our  dinner.  I  could  not  think  that  Ascher  really 
wanted  to  talk  to  me.  I  did  not  see  what  he  had  to 
talk  to  me  about;  but  I  wanted  to  talk  to  him.  I 
wanted  to  tell  him  about  my  tour  and  to  give  him  some 
idea  of  the  effect  which  my  glimpse  at  his  business 
had  produced  on  my  mind.  I  also  wanted  to  find  out 
what  he  thought  about  Irish  affairs.  I  had  heard  a 

151 


152  GOSSAMER 

good  deal  more  talk  about  the  Ulster  situation.  Mal- 
colmson  got  at  me  nearly  every  day,  and  several  other 
men,  much  more  level-headed  than  Malcolmson, 
seemed  to  regard  the  situation  as  serious.  I  heard  it 
hinted  that  the  Army  would  not  relish  the  idea  of 
shooting  the  Ulstermen.  I  understood  the  feeling.  If 
•I  were  still  in  the  Army  I  should  not  like  to  be  told 
to  kill  Malcolmson.  He  was  my  brother  officer  at  one 
time,  and  I  found  him  a  good  comrade.  The  same 
feeling  must  exist  among  the  rank  and  file.  North- 
east Ulster  was,  at  one  time,  a  favourite  recruiting 
ground  for  the  Guards.  Malcolmson's  volunteer  army 
was  leavened  with  old  Guardsmen,  reservists,  many  of 
them  quite  well  known  to  the  men  still  serving  in  the 
Brigade. 

I  could  not,  of  course,  expect  Ascher  to  be  much 
interested  in  Irish  affairs.  Ireland  is  the  one  country 
in  the  world  over  which  financiers  have  not  cast  their 
net,  possibly  because  they  would  catch  next  to  noth- 
ing there.  So  we,  who  escaped  the  civilisation  of 
Roman  law,  almost  escaped  the  philosophy  of  the 
mediaeval  church,  were  entirely  untouched  by  the 
culture  of  the  Renaissance,  remained  a  kind  of 
Gideon's  fleece  when  the  dew  of  the  industrial  system 
of  the  ipth  century  was  moistening  Europe,  are  now 
left  untouched  by  the  new  civilisation  of  international 
finance.  Yet  Ascher,  if  not  personally  interested  in 
our  destiny,  has  a  cool  and  unprejudiced  mind.  His 
opinion  on  Irish  affairs  would  be  of  the  greatest  in- 
terest to  me.  I  was  not  satisfied  with  Gorman's  read- 
ing of  the  situation.  Nor  did  I  feel  sure  that  Mai- 


GOSSAMER  153 

colmson,  though  he  was  certainly  in  earnest,  quite 
understood  what  a  big  thing  he  was  letting  himself  in 
for. 

The  Aschers  live  near  Golders  Hill,  a  part  of  Lon- 
don totally  unknown  to  me.  They  have  a  large  old- 
fashioned  house  with  a  considerable  amount  of  ground 
round  it.  Some  day  when  Ascher  is  dead  the  house 
will  be  pulled  down  and  the  grounds  cut  up  into  build- 
ing plots.  In  the  meanwhile  Ascher  holds  it.  I  sup- 
pose it  suits  him.  Neither  he  nor  Mrs.  Ascher  cares 
for  fashionable  life,  and  a  Mayfair  address  has  no 
attraction  for  them.  The  few  artistic  and  musical 
people  whom  they  wish  to  know  are  quite  willing  to 
go  to  Hampstead.  Every  one  else  who  wants  to  see 
Ascher,  and  a  good  many  people  do,  calls  at  his  office 
or  dines  with  him  in  a  club.  Ascher  knows  most  of 
the  chief  men  in  the  political  world,  for  instance,  but 
even  Prime  Ministers  are  not  often  invited  to  the 
house  at  Golders  Hill.  If  Ascher  really  controls  them, 
as  Gorman  says,  he  does  so  without  allowing  them  to 
interfere  with  his  private  life. 

The  house  and  its  appointments  impressed  me 
greatly.  The  architecture  was  Georgian,  a  style  fa- 
miliar to  any  one  who  has  lived  much  in  Dublin.  It 
gave  me  a  feeling  of  spaciousness  and  dignity.  The 
men  who  built  these  houses  knew  what  it  was  to  live 
like  gentlemen.  I  can  imagine  them  guilty  of  various 
offences  against  the  code  of  Christian  morality,  but 
I  do  not  think  they  can  ever  have  been  either  fussy  or 
mean.  There  is  a  restlessness  about  our  fashionable 
imitations  of  the  older  kinds  of  English  domestic 


154  GOSSAMER 

architecture.  Our  picturesque  gables,  dormer  windows 
and  rooms  with  all  sorts  of  odd  angles,  our  finicky 
windows  stuck  high  up  in  unexpected  parts  of  walls, 
our  absurd  leaded  diamond  panes  and  crooked  metal 
fastenings,  all  make  for  fussiness  of  soul.  Nor  can  I 
believe  that  people  who  live  under  ceilings  which  they 
can  almost  touch  ever  attain  a  great  and  calm  outlook 
upon  life. 

There  was  nothing  "artistic0  about  Ascher's  house. 
This  surprised  me  at  first.  I  did  not,  of  course,  expect 
that  Mrs.  Ascher  would  have  surrounded  herself  with 
the  maddening  kind  of  furniture  which  is  distinguished 
by  its  crookedness  and  is  designed  by  men  who  find 
their  inspiration  by  remembering  the  things  which  they 
see  in  nightmares.  Nor  did  I  think  it  likely  that  she 
would  have  crammed  her  rooms  with  those  products  of 
the  east  which  are  imported  into  this  country  by  house 
furnishers  with  reputations  for  aestheticism.  I  knew 
that  she  had  passed  that  stage  of  culture.  But  I  did 
expect  to  find  the  house  full  of  heavily  embroidered 
copes  of  mediaeval  bishops,  hung  on  screens;  candle- 
sticks looted  from  Spanish  monasteries,  standing  on 
curiously  carved  shelves;  chairs  and  cabinets  which 
were  genuine  relics  of  the  age  of  Louis  XV. ;  and  pic- 
tures by  artists  who  lived  in  Italy  before  the  days 
when  Italians  learned  to  paint. 

I  found  myself  in  a  house  which  was  curiously 
bare  of  furniture.  There  were  a  few  pictures  in  each 
of  the  rooms  I  entered,  modern  pictures,  and  I  sup- 
pose good,  but  I  am  no  judge  of  such  things.  There 
were  scarcely  any  ornaments  to  be  seen  and  very  few 


GOSSAMER  155 

tables  and  chairs.  My  own  feeling  is  that  a  house 
should  be  furnished  in  such  a  way  as  to  be  thoroughly 
comfortable.  I  like  deep  soft  chairs  and  sofas  to  sit 
on.  I  like  to  have  many  small  tables  on  which  to 
lay  down  books,  newspapers  and  pipes.  I  like  thick 
carpets  and  curtains  which  keep  out  draughts.  I 
would  not  live  in  Ascher's  house,  even  if  I  were  paid 
for  doing  so  by  being  given  Ascher's  fortune.  But  I 
would  rather  live  in  Ascher's  house  than  in  one  of 
those  overcrowded  museums  which  are  the  delight  of 
very  wealthy  New  York  Jews.  I  should,  in  some 
moods,  find  a  pleasure  in  the  fine  proportions  of  the 
rooms  which  Ascher  refuses  to  spoil.  I  could  never, 
I  know,  be  happy  in  a  place  where  I  ran  the  risk  of 
dropping  tobacco  ashes  on  thirteenth  century  tapestry 
and  dared  not  move  suddenly  lest  I  should  knock  over 
some  priceless  piece  of  china. 

We  ate  at  a  small  table  set  at  one  end  of  a  big 
dining-room,  a  dining-room  in  which,  I  suppose,  thirty 
people  could  have  sat  down  together  comfortably. 
There  was  no  affectation  of  shaded  lights  and  gloomy, 
mysterious  spaces.  Ascher  had  aimed  at  and  achieved 
something  like  a  subdued  daylight  by  means  of  elec- 
tric lamps,  shaded  underneath,  which  shone  on  the 
ceiling.  I  could  see  all  the  corners  of  the  room,  the 
walls  with  their  pictures  and  the  broad  floor  across 
which  the  servants  passed.  The  dinner  itself  was 
very  short  and  simple.  If  I  had  been  actually  hungry, 
as  I  am  in  the  country  after  shooting,  I  should  have 
called  the  dinner  meagre.  For  a  London  appetite 
there  was  enough,  but  not  more  than  enough.  I  might, 


156  GOSSAMER 

a  younger  and  more  vigorous  man  would,  have  got  up 
from  the  table  hungry.  But  the  food  was  exquisite. 
The  cook  must  be  a  descendant  of  one  of  those  artists 
whom  Lord  Beaconsfield  described  in  "Tancred,"  and 
he  has  found  in  Ascher's  house  a  situation  which 
ought  to  satisfy  him.  Ascher  does  not  care  for 
sumptuousness  or  abundance;  but  he  knows  how 
to  eat  well.  We  had  one  wine,  a  very  delicately 
flavoured  white  Italian  wine,  perhaps  from  Capri,  the 
juice  of  some  rare  crops  of  grapes  in  that  sunny 
island. 

"We  found  ourselves  in  a  little  difficulty,"  said 
Ascher,  "when  you  fixed  on  to-night  for  your  visit 
to  us." 

"I  hope,"  I  said,  "that  I  haven't  lit  on  an  incon- 
venient evening.  Had  you  any  other  engagement?" 

I  was  eating  a  very  small  piece  of  fish  when  he 
spoke  to  me,  and  was  trying  to  guess  what  the  sauce 
was  flavoured  with.  It  occurred  to  me  suddenly  that  I 
might  have  broken  in  upon  some  sort  of  private  anni- 
versary, a  day  which  Ascher  and  his  wife  observed  as 
one  of  abstinence.  There  was,  I  could  scarcely  fail 
to  notice  it,  a  sense  of  subdued  melancholy  about  our 
proceedings. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Ascher,  'but  on  Wednesdays  we 
always  have  some  music.  I  was  inclined  to  think  that 
you  might  have  preferred  to  spend  the  evening  talk- 
ing, but  my  wife " 

He  looked  at  Mrs.  Ascher.  I  should  very  much 
have  preferred  talk  to  music.  It  was  chiefly  in  order 
to  hear  Ascher  talk  that  I  had  accepted  the  invitation. 


GOSSAMER  157 

"I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher,  "that  Sir  James  likes 
music." 

She  laid  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  word  "know," 
and  I  felt  that  she  was  paying  me  a  nice  compliment. 
What  she  said  was  true  enough.  I  do  like  music, 
some  kinds  of  music.  I  had  heard  for  the  first  time 
the  night  before  a  song,  then  very  popular,  with  a  par- 
ticularly attractive  chorus.  It  began  to  run  through 
my  head  the  moment  Ascher  mentioned  music.  "I 
didn't  want  to  do  it.  I  didn't  want  to  do  it."  I  liked 
that  song.  I  was  not  sure  that  I  should  like  the 
Aschers'  music  equally  well.  However,  I  had  no  in- 
tention of  contradicting  Mrs.  Ascher. 

"I'm  passionately  fond  of  music,"  I  said. 

Ascher  is  a  singularly  guileless  man.  I  cannot  im- 
agine'how  any  one  so  unsuspicious  as  he  is  can  ever 
have  succeeded  as  a  financier,  unless  indeed  people  are 
far  honester  about  money  than  they  are  about  any- 
thing else.  I  do  not  think  Mrs.  Ascher  believed  that 
I  am  passionately  fond  of  music.  Her  husband  did. 
The  little  shadow  of  anxiety  which  had  rested  on  his 
face  cleared  away.  He  became  almost  cheerful. 

"To-night,"  he  said,  "we  are  going  to  hear  some  of 
the  work  of " 

He  said  a  name,  but  I  utterly  failed  to  catch  it.  I 
had  never  heard  it  before,  and  it  sounded  foreign, 
very  foreign  indeed,  possibly  Kurdish. 

" ,"  said  Ascher,  "is  one  of  the  new  Russian 

composers." 

I  heard  the  name  that  time,  but  I  can  make  no  at- 
tempt, phonetic  or  other,  to  spell  it.  I  suppose  it  can 


158  GOSSAMER 

be  spelled,  but  the  letters  must  be  given  values  quite 
new  to  me.  The  alphabet  I  am  accustomed  to  is  in- 
capable of  representing  that  man's  name. 

"I  daresay  you  know  him,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher. 

I  strongly  suspected  that  she  was  trying  to  entrap 
me.  I  have  never  been  quite  sure  of  Mrs.  Ascher 
since  the  day  she  discovered  that  I  was  talking  non- 
sense about  the  statuette  of  Psyche.  Sometimes  she 
appears  to  be  the  kind  of  foolish  woman  to  whom 
anything  may  be  said  without  fear.  Sometimes  she 
displays  most  unexpected  intelligence.  I  looked  at  her 
before  I  answered.  Her  narrow,  pale-green  eyes  ex- 
pressed nothing  but  innocent  inquiry.  She  might  con- 
ceivably think  that  I  had  already  made  a  careful  study 
of  the  music  of  the  new  Russian  composer.  On  the 
other  hand,  she  might  be  luring  me  on  to  say  that  I 
knew  music  which  was  to  be  played  in  her  house  that 
night  for  the  first  time.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  be 
safe. 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  never  even  heard  of  him." 

Then  Ascher  began  to  talk  about  the  man  and  his 
music.  He  became  more  animated  than  I  had  ever 
seen  him.  It  was  evident  that  Russian  music  inter- 
ested Ascher  far  more  than  finance  did ;  that  it  was  a 
subject  which  was  capable  of  wakening  real  enthusi- 
asm in  him.  I  listened,  eating  from  time  to  time  the 
delicate  morsels  of  food  offered  to  me  and  sipping  the 
delicious  wine.  I  did  not  understand  anything  Ascher 
said,  and  all  the  names  he  mentioned  were  new  to  me ; 
but  for  a  time  I  was  content  to  sit  in  a  kind  of  half- 
conscious  state,  hypnotised  by  the  sound  of  his  voice 


GOSSAMER  159 

and  the  feeling  that  Mrs.  Ascher's  eyes  were  fixed  on 
me. 

Not  until  dinner  was  nearly  over  did  I  make  an 
effort  to  assert  myself. 

"I  was  talking  to  Gorman  the  other  day,"  I  said, 
"about  Irish  affairs  and  especially  about  the  Ulster 
situation.  I  have  also  been  hearing  Malcolmson's 
views.  Malcolmson  is  a  colonel  and  an  Ulsterman. 
You  know  the  sort  of  views  an  Ulster  Colonel  would 
have." 

Ascher  smiled  faintly.  He  seemed  no  more  than 
slightly  amused  at  the  turn  Irish  affairs  were  taking. 
After  all  neither  international  finance  nor  Russian  mu- 
sic was  likely  to  be  profoundly  affected  by  the  Ulster 
rebellion.  (Malcolmson  will  not  use  the  word  re- 
bellion, but  I  must.  There  is  no  other  word  to  de- 
scribe the  actions  he  contemplates.)  No  wonder 
Ascher  takes  small  interest  in  the  matter.  On  the 
other  hand,  Mrs.  Ascher  was  profoundly  moved  by 
the  mention  of  Ulster.  I  could  see  genuine  passion 
in  her  eyes. 

"Belfast,"  she  said,  "stands  for  all  that  is  vilest  and 
most  hateful  in  the  world.  It  is  worse  than  Glasgow, 
worse  than  Manchester,  worse  than  Birmingham." 

Belfast  is,  no  doubt,  the  main  difficulty.  If  there 
were  no  Belfast  the  resistance  of  the  rest  of  Ulster 
would  be  inconsiderable.  I  admired  the  political  in- 
stinct which  enabled  Mrs.  Ascher  to  go  straight  to  the 
very  centre  of  the  situation.  But,  in  all  probability, 
Gorman  gave  her  the  hint.  Gorman  does  not  seem 
to  understand  how  real  the  Ulster  opposition  is,  but 


160  GOSSAMER 

he  has  intelligence  enough  to  grasp  the  importance  of 
Belfast.  What  puzzled  me  first  was  the  extreme  bit- 
terness with  which  Mrs.  Ascher  spoke. 

"What  has  Belfast  ever  given  to  the  world?"  she 
asked. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "ships  are  built  there,  and  of  course 
there's  linen.  I  believe  they  manufacture  tobacco, 
and " 

"That,"  said  Ascher,  "is  not  quite  what  my  wife 
means.  The  gifts  which  a  city  or  a  country  give  to. 
the  world  must  be  of  a  more  permanent  kind  if  they 
are  to  be  of  real  value.  Ships,  linen,  tobacco,  we  use 
them,  and  in  using  we  destroy  them.  They  have  their 
value,  but  it  is  not  a  permanent  value.  Ultimately  a 
city  will  be  judged  not  by  its  perishable  products,  but 
by " 

"Art,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher. 

I  might  have  known  it.  Mrs.  Ascher  would  be  sure 
to  judge  cities,  as  she  judges  men,  by  their  achieve- 
ment in  that  particular  line.  I  was  bound  to  admit 
that  the  reputation  of  Belfast  falls  some  way  short  of 
that  of  Athens  as  a  centre  of  literature  and  art. 

"Or  thought,"  said  Ascher,  "or  criticism.  It  is 
curious  that  a  community  which  is  virile  and  fearless, 
which  is  able  to  look  at  the  world  and  life  through  its 
own  eyes,  which  is  indifferent  to  the  general  con- 
sensus of  opinion " 

"Belfast  is  all  that,"  I  said.  "I  never  knew  any 
one  who  cared  less  what  other  people  said  and  thought 
than  Malcolmson." 

"Yet,"    said    Ascher,   "Belfast   has    done   nothing, 


GOSSAMER  161 

thought  nothing,  seen  nothing.  But  perhaps  that  is 
all  to  come.  The  future  may  be,  indeed  I  think  must 
be,  very  different." 

Ascher  will  never  be  a  real  leader  of  men.  His 
habit  of  seeing  two  sides  of  every  question  is  an  in- 
curable weakness  in  him.  Mrs.  Ascher  does  not  suffer 
in  that  way.  She  saw  no  good  whatever  in  Belfast, 
nor  any  hope  for  its  future. 

"Never,"  she  said,  "never.  A  people  who  have 
given  themselves  over  to  material  things,  who  accept 
frankly,  without  even  the  hypocrite's  tribute  to  vir- 
tue, the  money  standard  of  value,  who  ask  'Does  it 

pay?'  and  ask  nothing  else Have  you  ever  been 

in  Belfast?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "often.  The  churches  are  ugly,  de- 
cidedly ugly,  though  comfortable." 

Mrs.  Ascher  shuddered. 

"Comfortable!"  she  said.  "Yes.  Comfortable! 
Think  of  it.  Churches,  comfort !  Irredeemable  hide- 
ousness  and  the  comfort  of  congregations  as  a  set-off 
to  it." 

Mrs.  Ascher  panted.  I  could  see  the  front  of  her 
dress — she  wore  a  very  floppy  scarlet  teagown — rising 
and  falling  rapidly  in  the  intensity  of  her  passion.  I 
understood  more  or  less  what  she  felt.  If  God  is  at 
all  what  we  think  He  is,  sublime,  then  there  is  some- 
thing a  little  grotesque  about  requiring  a  cushioned 
pew,  a  good  system  of  heating  and  a  nice  fat  foot- 
stool as  aids  to  communion  with  Him.  Yet  I  am  not 
convinced  that  man  is  incapable  of  the  highest  emo- 
tion when  his  body  is  at  ease.  Some  degree  of  physi- 


162  GOSSAMER 

cal  comfort  seems  to  be  required  if  the  excursions  of 
the  soul  are  to  be  successful.  I  cannot,  for  instance, 
enjoy  the  finest  kinds  of  poetry  when  I  am  very 
thirsty;  nor  have  I  ever  met  any  one  who  found  real 
pleasure  in  a  statue  when  he  had  toothache.  There  is 
something  to  be  said  for  the  theory  of  the  sceptical 
bishop  in  Browning's  poem,  that  the  soul  is  only  free 
to  muse  of  lofty  things 

"When  body  gets  its  sop  and  holds  its  noise." 

"The  whole  Irish  question,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher,  and 
she  spoke  with  the  most  tremendous  vehemence,  "is 
a  struggle  not  between  political  parties — what  are  po- 
litical parties?" 

"Rotten  things,"  I  said.  "I  quite  agree  with  you 
there." 

"Not  between  conceptions  of  religion What  is 

religion  but  the  blind  gropings  of  the  human  soul 
after  some  divine  perfection  vaguely  guessed?" 

That  is  not  what  religion  is  in  Ireland.  There  is 
nothing  either  dim  or  vague  about  it  there,  and  no- 
body gropes.  Every  one,  from  the  infant  school  child 
to  the  greatest  of  our  six  archbishops,  is  perfectly 
clear  and  definite  in  his  religious  beliefs  and  suffers 
no  doubts  of  any  kind.  That  is  why  Ireland  is  recog- 
nised everywhere  as  an  island  of  saints.  But  of  course 
Mrs.  Ascher  could  not  be  expected  to  know  that. 

"It  is  a  struggle,"  she  said,  getting  back  to  the  Irish 
question  as  the  subject  of  her  sentence,  "between  a 
people  to  whom  art  is  an  ideal  and  a  people  who  have 
accepted  materialism  and  money  for  their  gods,  an 
atheist  people." 


GOSSAMER  163 

It  has  been  the  great  misfortune  of  my  life  that  I 
have  never  been  able  to  escape  from  the  Irish  question. 
It  was  discussed  round  my  cradle  by  a  nurse  whom 
my  parents  selected  for  her  sound  Protestant  princi- 
ples. The  undertaker  will  give  his  views  of  the  Irish 
question  to  his  assistant  while  he  drives  the  nails  into 
the  lid  of  my  coffin.  I  should  not  have  supposed  that 
any  one  could  have  hit  on  an  aspect  of  it  wholly  new 
to  me.  But  Mrs.  Ascher  did.  Never  before  had  I 
heard  the  problem  stated  as  she  stated  it. 

"That,"  I  said,  "is  an  extraordinarily  interesting 
way  of  looking  at  it.  The  only  difficulty  I  see  is " 

"It  is  true,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher. 

That  was  precisely  my  difficulty.  It  was  not  true.  I 
went  back  to  my  recollections  of  old  Dan  Gorman,  a 
man  as  intensely  interested  in  the  struggle  as  ever  any 
one  was.  I  remembered  his  great  pot  belly,  his  flabby 
skin,  his  whisky-sodden  face.  I  remembered  his 
grasping  meanness,  his  relentless  hardness  in  dealing 
with  those  in  his  power.  The  most  thoroughly  ma- 
terialised business  man  in  Belfast  has  more  spirituality 
about  him  than  old  Dan  Gorman  ever  had.  Nor  did 
I  believe  that  his  son,  Michael  Gorman,  would  have 
accepted  Mrs.  Ascher's  account  of  his  position.  He 
would  have  winked,  humourously  appreciative  of  an 
excellent  joke,  if  any  one  had  told  him  that  he  was  a 
crusader,  out  to  wrest  the  sacred  sepulchre  of  art  from 
the  keeping  of  the  Saracens  of  Ulster. 

I  did  not,  of  course,  attempt  to  reason  with  Mrs. 
Ascher.  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  more  foolish 
than  trying  to  reason  with  a  woman  who  is  possessed 


164  GOSSAMER 

by  a  cause.  No  good  ever  comes  of  it.  But  Mrs. 
Ascher  is  quite  clever  enough  to  understand  a  man 
even  if  he  does  not  speak.  She  felt  that  I  should  have 
been  glad  to  argue  with  her  if  I  had  not  been  afraid. 
She  entered  on  a  long  defence  of  her  position. 

She  began  with  the  Irish  Players,  and  the  moment 
she  mentioned  them  I  knew  what  she  was  going  to 
say. 

"The  one  instance,"  she  said,  "the  single  example 
in  the  modern  world  of  peasant  art,  from  the  soil,  of 
the  soil,  redolent,  fragrant  of  the  simple  life  of  men 
and  women,  in  direct  touch  with  the  primal  forces  of 
nature  itself.  There  is  nothing  else  quite  like  those 
players  and  their  plays.  They  are  the  self-revelation, 
of  the  peasant  soul.  From  the  whitewashed  cabins  of 
the  country-side,  from  the  streets  of  tiny,  world-for- 
gotten villages,  from  the  islands  where  the  great  At- 
lantic thunders  ceaselessly,  these  have  come  to  call  us 
back  to  the  realities  of  life,  to  express  again  the  ex- 
ternal verities  of  art." 

That  is  all  very  well.  I  agreed  with  Mrs.  Ascher 
thoroughly  about  the  art  of  Synge's  plays,  and  Lady 
Gregory's  and  Yeats',  and  the  art  of  the  players.  But 
it  is  merely  silly  to  talk  about  the  soil  and  white- 
washed cottages,  and  self-revelation  of  peasant  souls. 
Neither  the  dramatists  nor  the  players  are  peasants  or 
ever  were.  They  are  very  clever,  sometimes  more 
than  clever,  members  of  the  educated  classes,  who  see 
the  peasants  from  outside  just  as  I  see  them,  as  Mrs. 
Ascher  would  see  them  if  she  ever  got  near  enough 
to  what  she  calls  the  soil  to  see  a  peasant  at  all. 


GOSSAMER  165 

When  Mrs.  Ascher  had  finished  with  the  Irish  Play- 
ers she  went  on,  still  in  a  white  heat  of  excitement,  to 
the  attempt  to  revive  the  Irish  language. 

"Where  else,"  she  said,  "will  you  find  such  devo- 
tion to  a  purely  spiritual  ideal?  Here  you  have  a 
people  rising  enthusiastically  to  fight  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  national  language.  And  its  language  is  the 
soul  of  a  nation.  These  splendid  efforts  are  made  in 
defiance  of  materialism,  without  the  remotest  hope  of 
gain,  just  to  keep,  to  save  from  destruction,  a  posses- 
sion felt  instinctively  to  be  the  most  precious  thing  of 
all,  far  above  gold  and  rubies  in  price." 

"The  only  flaw  in  that  theory,"  I  said,  "is  that  the 
people  who  still  have  this  most  precious  possession 
don't  want  to  keep  it  in  the  least.  Nobody  ever  heard 
of  the  Irish-speaking  peasants  taking  the  smallest  in- 
terest in  their  language.  The  whole  revival  business 
is  the  work  of  an  English-speaking  middle  class,  who 
never  stop  asking  the  Government  to  pay  them  for 
doing  it." 

That  was  the  second  occasion  on  which  I  came  near 
quarrelling  with  Mrs.  Ascher.  Yet  I  am  not  a  man 
who  quarrels  easily.  Like  St.  Paul's  friends  at 
Corinth,  I  can  suffer  fools  gladly.  But  Mrs.  Ascher  is 
not  a  fool.  She  is  a  clever  woman  with  a  twist  in  her 
mind.  That  is  why  I  find  myself  saying  nasty  things 
to  her  now  and  then.  I  suppose  it  was  Gorman  who 
taught  her  to  be  an  Irish  patriot.  If  she  had  been 
content  to  follow  him  as  an  obedient  disciple,  I  should 
have  put  up  with  all  she  said  politely.  But,  once 
started  by  Gorman,  she  thought  out  Ireland  for  her- 


166  GOSSAMER 

self  and  arrived  at  this  amazing  theory  of  hers,  her 
artistic  children  of  light  in  death  grips  with  mercan- 
tile and  manufacturing  materialists.  No  wonder  she 
irritated  me. 

Ascher  saved  us  from  a  heated  argument.  Dinner 
was  over.  He  had  smoked  his  half  cigarette.  He  rose 
from  his  chair. 

"I  expect  Mr.  Wendall  is  waiting  for  us,"  he  said 
to  Mrs.  Ascher. 

Her  face  softened  as  he  spoke.  The  look  of  fanati- 
cal enthusiasm  passed  out  of  her  eyes.  She  got  up 
quietly  and  left  the  room.  Ascher  held  the  door  open 
for  her  and  motioned  me  to  follow  her.  He  took  my 
arm  as  we  passed  together  down  a  long  corridor. 

"Mr.  Wendall,"  he  said,  "is  a  young  musician  who 
comes  to  play  to  us  every  week.  He  is  a  man  with  a 
future  before  him.  I  think  you  will  enjoy  his  play- 
ing. We  are  going  to  the  music  room." 

We  went  through  a  small  sitting-room,  more  fully 
furnished  than  any  other  in  Ascher's  house.  It  looked 
as  if  it  were  meant  to  be  inhabited  by  ordinary  human 
beings.  It  was  reserved,  so  I  learned  afterwards,  for 
the  use  of  Ascher's  guests.  We  ascended  a  short  flight 
of  stairs  and  entered  the  music  room.  Unlike  the 
dining-room  it  was  only  partially  lit.  A  single  lamp 
stood  on  a  little  table  near  the  fireplace,  and  there 
were  two  candles  on  a  grand  piano  in  the  middle  of 
the  room.  These  made  small  spots  of  light  in  a  space 
of  gloom.  I  felt  rather  than  saw  that  the  room  was 
a  large  one.  I  discerned  the  shapes  of  four  tall,  cur- 
tainless  windows.  I  saw  that  except  the  piano  and  a 


GOSSAMER  167 

few  seats  near  the  fireplace  there  was  no  furniture. 
As  we  entered  I  heard  the  sound  of  an  organ,  played 
very  softly,  somewhere  above  me. 

"Mr.  Wendall  is  here,"  said  Ascher. 

He  led  me  over  to  the  fireplace  and  put  me  in  a 
deep  soft  chair.  He  laid  a  box  of  cigarettes  beside 
me  and  set  a  vase  of  spills  at  my  right  hand.  I 
gathered  that  I  might  smoke,  so  long  as  I  lit  my  to- 
bacco noiselessly,  with  spills  kindled  in  the  fire;  but 
that  I  must  not  make  scratchy  sounds  by  striking 
matches.  Mrs.  Ascher  sank  down  in  a  corner  of  a 
large  sofa.  She  lay  there  with  parted  lips  and  half- 
closed  eyes,  like  some  feline  creature  expectant  of 
sensuous  delight.  The  light  from  the  lamp  behind  her 
and  the  flickering  fire  played  a  strange  game  of 
shadow-making  and  shadow-chasing  among  the  folds 
of  her  scarlet  gown.  Ascher  sat  down  beside  her. 

The  organ  was  played  very  softly.  I  found  out 
that  it  was  placed  in  a  gallery  above  the  door  by  which 
we  had  entered.  I  saw  the  pipes,  like  a  clump  of  tall 
spears,  barely  discernible  in  the  gloom.  There  was 
no  light  in  the  gallery.  Mr.  Wendall  was  no  doubt 
there  and  was  able  to  play  without  seeing  a  printed 
score.  I  supposed  that  he  was  playing  the  music  of) 
the  new  Russian  composer.  Whatever  he  played  he 
failed  to  catch  my  attention,  though  the  sounds  were 
vaguely  soothing.  I  found  myself  thinking  that  Mrs. 
Ascher  had  no  right  to  be  furiously  angry  with  the 
people  of  Belfast  for  making  their  churches  com- 
fortable. This  was  her  form  of  worship,  and  never 
were  any  devotees  more  luxuriously  placed  than  we 


i68  GOSSAMER 

were.  If  her  soul  can  soar  to  spiritual  heights  from 
the  depths  of  silken  cushions,  surely  a  linen-draper 
may  find  it  possible  to  pray  in  a  cushioned  pew. 

I  was  mistaken  about  the  music  I  was  listening  to. 
Mr.  Wendall  was  only  soothing  his  nerves  with  organ 
sounds  while  he  waited  for  us.  When  he  discovered 
our  presence  he  left  the  gallery  and  descended  to  the 
room  in  which  we  sat,  by  a  narrow  stairway.  No 
greeting  of  any  kind  passed  between  him  and  the 
Aschers.  He  went  straight  to  the  piano  without  giving 
any  sign  that  he  knew  of  our  presence.  I  lit  a  ciga- 
rette and  prepared  to  endure  what  was  in  store  for 
me. 

At  first  the  new  Russian  music  struck  me  as  merely 
noisy.  I  found  no  sense  or  rhythm  in  it.  Then  I  be- 
gan to  feel  slightly  excited.  The  excitement  grew  on 
me  in  a  curious  way.  I  looked  at  the  Aschers.  He 
was  sitting  nearly  bolt  upright,  very  rigid,  in  a  corner 
on  the  sofa.  She  lay  back,  as  she  had  lain  before,  with 
her  hands  on  her  lap.  The  only  change  that  I  noted 
in  her  attitude  was  that  her  fists  were  clenched  tightly. 
Mr.  Wendall  stopped  playing  abruptly.  There  was  a 
short  interval  of  silence,  through  which  I  seemed  to 
feel  the  last  chord  that  was  struck  vibrating  in  my 
spine. 

Then  he  began  to  play  again.  Once  more  the  feel- 
ing of  excitement  came  on  me.  I  am  far  from  being 
a  Puritan,  but  I  suppose  I  have  inherited  from  genera- 
tions of  sternly  Protestant  ancestors  some  kind  of 
moral  prejudice.  I  felt,  as  the  excitement  grew  in- 
tenser,  that  I  had  discovered  a  new,  supremely  delight- 


GOSSAMER  169 

ful  kind  of  sin.  There  came  to  my  memory  the  names 
of  ancient  gods  and  goddesses  denounced  by  the 
prophets  of  Israel:  Peor  and  Baalim,  Milcom,  Mo- 
loch, Ashtaroth.  I  knew  why  the  people  loved  to  wor- 
ship them.  I  remembered  that  Milton  had  rejoiced  in 
the  names  of  these  half-forgotten  deities,  and  that 
Milton  loved  music.  No  doubt  he,  too,  understood 
this  way  of  sinning  and,  very  rightly,  he  placed  the 
gods  of  it  in  hell.  Wendall,  at  the  piano,  stopped  and 
began  again.  He  did  this  many  times.  His  music 
was  loud  sometimes,  sometimes  soft,  but  it  did  not  fail 
to  create  the  sense  of  passionate  deliciousness  and,  for 
a  time,  a  longing  for  more  of  it. 

After  a  while  my  senses  grew  numb,  sated  I  sup- 
pose. I  looked  over  at  the  Aschers.  She  still  lay  as 
she  had  lain  at  first,  but  her  fists  were  no  longer 
clenched.  All  her  muscles  seemed  to  be  relaxed. 
Ascher  had  crept  over  close  to  her.  He  lay  back  be- 
side her,  and  I  saw  that  he  held  one  of  her  hands 
clasped  in  his.  His  eyes  were  fixed  intently  on  hers, 
and  even  as  I  watched  I  saw  her  lids  droop  before  his 
gaze.  She  gave  a  long,  soft  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

I  realised  that  Ascher  and  his  wife  were  lovers  still, 

i 

though  they  had  been  married  for  a  score  or  more  of 
years.  That  strange  emotion,  which  touches  human 
life  with  romance  for  a  year  or  two  and  then  fades 
into  a  tolerant  companionship,  had  endured  with  them. 
In  some  way  altogether  unknown  to  me  the  music  and 
all  the  art  in  which  they  delighted  had  the  power  of, 
stimulating  afresh  or  re-creating  again  and  again  the 
passion  which  drew  them  together.  Under  the  influ- 


i;o  GOSSAMER 

ence  of  art  they  enjoyed  a  mystical  communion  with 
each  other,  not  wholly  spiritual,  but  like  all  mysticism, 
a  mixture  of  the  physical,  the  ecstasy  of  contact, 
actual  or  imagined,  with  yearnings  and  emotions  in 
which  the  body  has  no  part. 

I  suppose  the  music  had  its  effect  on  me,  too,  gave 
me  for  a  few  moments  a  power  of  sympathy  not 
usually  mine.  I  understood  Ascher  as  I  had  never  un- 
derstood him  before.  I  knew  that  the  man  I  had 
hitherto  seen,  austere,  calm,  intellectual,  the  great 
financier  whom  the  world  sought,  was  a  man  with  a 
mask  before  his  face;  that  accident  and  the  excite- 
ment of  the  music  had  enabled  me  to  see  the  face  be- 
hind the  mask.  I  understood,  or  supposed  I  under- 
stood, Mrs.  Ascher,  too.  All  her  foolish  fine  phrases 
and  absurd  enthusiasms  were  like  cries  in  which  tor- 
tured creatures  find  some  kind  of  relief  from  pain,  or 
the  low,  crooning  laughter  of  a  young  mother  with  her 
baby  at  her  breast.  They  were  the  inevitable,  almost 
hysterical  gaspings  of  a  spirit  wrought  upon  over 
highly  and  over  often  by  the  passion  of  romantic  love. 
A  mask  hid  the  man's  face.  The  woman  was  not 
strong  enough  to  wear  it. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

IT  is  difficult  now,  in  1915,  to  regard  the  things 
which  happened  during  the  first  half  of  last  year 
as  events  in  any  proper  sense  of  the  word.  But  at 
the  time  they  excited  us  all  very  much,  and  we  felt 
that  the  whole  future  of  the  country,  the  empire,  per- 
haps of  the  human  race,  depended  on  how  the  Govern- 
ment met  the  crisis  with  which  it  was  faced.  It  seems 
curious  that  we  could  have  believed  such  a  thing,  but 
we  did. 

I  remember  quite  distinctly  the  circumstances  under 
which  I  first  heard  the  news  of  the  protest  made  by 
certain  cavalry  officers  against  what  they  supposed  to 
be  the  Government's  policy  in  Ulster.  I  am  not,  thank 
God,  called  upon  to  pass  a  judgment  on  that  very 
tangled  business,  or  to  give  any  opinion  about  the 
rights  or  wrongs  of  either  side.  I  do  not  even  profess 
to  know  the  facts.  Indeed  I  am  inclined  to  doubt 
whether  there  were  any  facts.  In  affairs  conducted 
mainly  by  politicians  there  seldom  are  facts.  There 
are  statements,  explanations,  pledges  and  recrimina- 
tions in  great  abundance ;  but  facts  are  not  to  be  dis- 
covered, for  the  sufficient  reason  that  they  are  not 
there.  What  happened  or  seemed  to  happen  was  de- 
scribed as  a  plot,  a  mare's  nest,  an  aristocratic  con- 
spiracy, an  assertion  of  principle,  a  mutiny,  a  declara- 

171 


172  GOSSAMER 

tion  of  loyalty,  and  a  newspaper  scare,  according  to 
the  taste  of  the  person  who  was  speaking.  The  safest 
thing  to  call  it,  I  think,  is  an  incident. 

I  went  down  to  the  club  at  twelve  o'clock,  intend- 
ing to  smoke  a  cigar  and  look  at  the  picture  papers 
before  luncheon.  I  found  Malcolmson  in  the  outer 
hall.  His  head  was  bent  over  the  machine  which  reels 
off  strips  of  paper  with  the  latest  news  printed  on 
them.  The  machine  was  ticking  vigorously,  and  I 
knew  by  the  tense  attitude  in  which  Malcolmson  was 
standing  that  something  very  important  must  have 
happened.  My  first  impulse  was  to  slip  quietly  past 
and  get  away  to  the  smoking  room  before  he  saw  me. 
I  like  Malcolmson,  but  he  is  tiresome,  particularly 
tiresome  when  there  is  important  news.  I  crossed  the 
hall  cautiously,  keeping  an  eye  on  him,  hoping  that  he 
would  not  look  round  till  I  was  safe. 

Malcolmson  has  reached  that  time  of  life  at  which 
a  man's  neck  begins  to  bulge  over  his  collar  at  the 
back,  forming  a  kind  of  roll  of  rather  hairy  flesh, 
along  which  the  starched  linen  marks  a  deep  line  from 
ear  to  ear.  I  noticed  as  I  passed  that  Malcolmson's 
neck  was  far  more  swollen  than  usual  and  that  it  was 
rapidly  changing  colour  from  its  ordinary  brick  red  to 
a  deep  purple.  The  sight  was  so  strange  and  startling 
that  I  stopped  for  a  minute  to  see  what  would  happen 
next.  I  have  never  heard  of  a  man's  neck  bursting 
under  pressure  of  strong  excitement,  but  Malcolmson's 
looked  as  if  it  must  break  out  in  some  way.  While  I 
was  watching,  the  machine  suddenly  stopped  ticking 
and  Malcolmson  turned  round.  His  face  was  nearly 


GOSSAMER  173 

as  purple  as  his  neck.  His  moustache,  always  bristly, 
looked  as  if  it  was  composed  of  fine  wires  charged 
with  electricity.  His  eyes  were  blazing  with  excite- 
ment. 

"Come  here,  Digby,"  he  said.  "Come  here  and  read 
this." 

He  caught  up  the  paper  which  the  machine  had  dis- 
gorged and  allowed  it  to  hang  across  his  hands  in 
graceful  festoons.  There  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  great 
deal  of  it. 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  me  about  it,"  I  said.  "I  hate  read- 
ing those  things.  The  print  is  so  queer." 

I  knew  that  Malcolmson  would  tell  me  about  it 
whether  I  read  it  for  myself  or  not.  There  was  no 
use  getting  a  double  dose  of  the  news  whatever  it  was. 

"The  damned  Government's  done  for  at  last,"  said 
Malcolmson  triumphantly,  "and  Home  Rule's  as  dead 
as  a  door  nail." 

"Good,"  I  said.  "Now  we  shall  all  be  able  to  settle 
down.  How  did  it  happen?  Earthquake  in  Dublin? 
But  that  would  hardly  do  it.  Cabinet  Ministers  com- 
mitted suicide  unanimously?" 

"The  Army,"  said  Malcolmson,  "has  refused  to  fire 
on  us.  I  knew  they  would  and  they  have." 

"Were  they  asked  to  ?"  I  said. 

"Asked  to !"  said  Malcolmson.  "They  were  told  to, 
ordered  to.  We've  had  our  private  information  of 
what  was  going  on.  We've  known  all  about  it  for  a 
week  or  more.  Belfast  was  to  be  bombarded  by  the 
Fleet.  Two  brigades  of  infantry  were  to  cross  the 
Boyne  and  march  on  Portadown.  The  cavalry,  sup- 


174  GOSSAMER 

ported  by  light  artillery,  were  to  take  Enniskillen  by 
surprise.  We  were  to  be  mowed  down,  mowed  down 
and  sabred  before  we  had  time  to  mobilise.  The  most 
infamous  plot  in  modern  times.  A  second  St.  Bar- 
tholomew's massacre.  But  thank  God  the  Army  is 
loyal.  I  cross  to-night  to  take  my  place  with  my  men." 

An  ill-tempered,  captious  man  might  have  suggested 
that  Malcolmson  ought  to  have  taken  his  place  with 
his  men — a  regiment  of  volunteers  I  suppose — a  little 
sooner.  According  to  his  own  account,  the  peril  had 
been  real  a  week  before,  but  was  over  before  he  told 
me  about  it.  The  Government  which  had  planned 
the  massacre  was  dead  and  damned.  The  Army  had 
refused  to  carry  out  the  infamous  plot.  It  seemed 
a  mere  piece  of  bravado,  under  the  circumstances,  to 
take  up  arms.  But  I  knew  Malcolmson  better  than 
to  suppose  that  he  wanted  to  swagger  when  swagger- 
ing was  safe.  His  mind  might  be  in  a  muddled  state. 
Judging  by  the  way  he  talked  to  me,  it  was  very  mud- 
dled indeed.  But  his  heart  was  sound,  and  no  risk 
would  have  daunted  him. 

"Let's  have  a  glass  of  sherry  and  a  biscuit,"  I  said. 
"You'll  want  something  to  steady  your  nerves." 

But  Malcolmson,  for  once,  for  the  only  time  since  I 
have  known  him,  was  unwilling  to  sit  down  and  talk. 
His  train,  supposing  that  he  took  the  quickest  route 
to  Belfast,  did  not  leave  Euston  till  8  or  9  o'clock  at 
night;  but  he  felt  that  he  must  be  up  and  doing  at 
once.  He  fussed  out  of  the  club,  and  for  some  time  I 
saw  no  more  of  him. 

I  waited  until  the  hall  porter  had  cut  up  the  slips 


GOSSAMER  175 

of  paper  which  fell  from  the  clicking  machine  and 
pinned  the  bits  to  the  notice  boards.  Then  I  read  the 
news  for  myself.  These  machines  are  singularly  un- 
intelligent. They  mix  up  the  items  of  news  in  a  very 
irritating  way.  Sometimes  a  sheet  begins  with  the 
assassination  of  a  foreign  prime  minister,  breaks  off 
suddenly  to  announce  the  name  of  a  winning  horse, 
goes  back  to  the  prime  minister,  starts  a  divorce  case 
abruptly  and  then  gives  a  few  Stock  Exchange  quota- 
tions. I  hate  news  which  comes  to  me  in  this  dis- 
jointed way,  and  never  attempt  to  learn  anything  from 
the  machine  until  the  hall  porter  has  edited  the  sheets. 
He  cuts  them  up,  gets  all  the  racing  news  on  one 
board,  the  Stock  Exchange  and  the  Divorce  Court  on 
another  and  makes  a  continuous  narrative  of  political 
news,  assassinations,  picturesque  shipwrecks  and  such 
matters  on  the  largest  and  most  prominent  of  the 
notice  boards. 

I  found  when  I  did  read  that  Malcolmson  had  built 
up  a  lofty  structure  on  a  very  small  foundation.  Some- 
thing had  evidently  happened  among  the  soldiers  sta- 
tioned at  the  Curragh  Camp ;  but  the  first  account  tele- 
graphed over  from  Ireland  left  me  in  grave  doubt.  It 
was  a  question  whether  the  men  had  actually  been  told 
to  shoot  Malcolmson  and  refused  to  obey  orders;  or 
had  been  asked,  politely,  if  they  would  like  to  shoot 
Malcolmson  and  said  they  would  rather  not.  The  one 
thing  which  emerged  with  any  sort  of  clearness  was 
that  Malcolmson  would  not  be  shot.  This  made  my 
mind  easy.  I  went  into  the  dining-room  and  had  some 
luncheon. 


i;6  GOSSAMER 

Early  in  the  afternoon  I  collected  six  evening  pa- 
pers, three  belonging  to  each  side.  I  found  the  Union- 
ist writers  unanimous  on  two  points.  The  Army  had 
saved  the  Empire  and  the  Government  would  be 
obliged  to  resign.  The  Liberal  scribes  took  another 
view  of  the  situation.  According  to  them  the  Army 
had  been  seduced  from  its  loyalty  by  the  intrigues  of 
fascinating  and  fashionable  Delilahs,  but  the  will 
of  the  people  must,  nevertheless,  prevail.  Newspaper 
writers  on  the  Liberal  side  are  far  more  intelligent 
than  their  opponents.  It  was  a  stupid  thing,  in  the 
early  part  of  1914,  to  talk  about  saving  the  Empire. 
No  one  at  that  time  cared  anything  about  the  Em- 
pire. Very  few  people  believed  that  it  existed.  It 
was  worse  than  stupid  to  suggest  that  the  Government 
would  resign.  The  country  was  utterly  weary  of  Gen- 
eral Elections  and  was  planning  its  summer  holiday. 
Public  sympathy  was  hopelessly  alienated  by  that  kind, 
of  talk.  On  the  other  hand,  the  fashionable  Delilah 
story  was  a  brilliant  invention.  There  is  nothing 
dearer  to  the  heart  of  the  English  middle  classes  and 
working  men  than  the  belief  that  every  woman  with 
a  dress  allowance  of  more  than  £ 200  a  year  is  a  cour- 
tesan. The  suggestion  that  these  immoral  Phrynes 
were  bartering  their  charms  for  power  to  thwart  the 
will  of  the  people  was  just  the  sort  of  thing  to  raise 
a  tempest  of  enthusiasm. 

Almost  anything  might  have  happened  if  the  Gov- 
ernment had  had  the  courage  to  follow  up  its  advan- 
tage. Fortunately — from  Malcolmson's  point  of  view 
— it  did  not  venture  to  shut  up  all  women  of  title,  un- 


GOSSAMER  177 

der  fifty  years  of  age,  in  houses  of  correction;  a 
course  which  would  have  convinced  the  general  pub- 
lic that  Home  Rule  was  a  sound  thing.  It  spent  a 
fortnight  or  so  contradicting  everybody  who  said  any- 
thing, including  itself,  and  then  apologised  for  being 
misunderstood. 

However,  that  anti-climax  was  still  some  way 
off. 

I  stuffed  the  three  Liberal  papers  into  my  pocket 
and  went  to  call  on  Lady  Kingscourt.  She  is  the  only 
peeress  I  am  intimate  with  who  moves  in  really  fash- 
ionable circles  and  is  both  rich  and  beautiful.  It 
would  have  been  interesting  to  hear  what  she  said 
when  I  pointed  out  to  her  that  she  had  been  seducing 
subalterns.  She  was  not  at  home  when  I  reached  her 
house.  The  butler  told  me  that  she  had  gone  to  a 
bazaar  got  up  to  raise  funds  for  the  Soldiers'  and 
Sailors'  Families'  Association,  in  itself  a  suspicious 
circumstance.  If  I  were  Lady  Kingscourt  and  my 
character  was  attacked  as  hers  was,  I  should  keep 
clear  of  any  charity  with  the  word  soldier  in  its  name. 
I  was  sorry  to  miss  her,  though  I  scarcely  expected 
that  she  would  have  tried  to  fascinate  me.  It  is  a  good 
many  years  since  I  resigned  my  commission. 

The  next  person  I  thought  of  seeing  was  Gorman. 
It  was  nearly  five  o'clock,  so  I  went  to  the  House  of 
Commons. 

Gorman,  when  I  found  him,  seemed  very  much 
pleased  to  see  me,  and  was  in  a  hospitable  mood.  He 
took  me  to  a  room,  which  must  have  originally  been 
meant  for  a  cellar,  and  gave  me  tea. 


178  GOSSAMER 

"I've  been  ringing  you  up  on  the  telephone  all  day," 
he  said,  "and  couldn't  get  you.  Where  have  you 
been?" 

"Down  at  the  club,"  I  said,  "talking  to  Malcolmson 
about  the  plot — what  you'd  call  the  situation  I  sup- 
pose. You  can  hardly  be  expected  to  admit  that  there 
is  a  plot.  Now,  do  tell  me  what  you  think  about  the 
situation." 

"Damn  the  situation!"  said  Gorman. 

"That,"  I  said,  "seems  the  sensible  view  to  take.  Is 
it  the  one  usually  held  ?  Is  that  what  they're  saying  up 
there?" 

I  pointed  to  the  ceiling  with  my  thumb.  Somewhere 
above  my  head,  it  might  be  supposed,  statesmen  with 
furrowed  brows  were  taking  anxious  counsel  together 
for  the  safety  of  the  nation,  retiring  now  and  then 
when  utterly  exhausted,  to  damn  the  situation  in  pri- 
vate rooms. 

"Some  of  them  are  a  bit  fussed,"  said  Gorman. 
"Silly  asses !  But  it  isn't  that  wretched  business  that 
I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about." 

"Good  gracious !  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  can 
talk  of  anything  else?  that  you  didn't  ring  me  up  to 
tell  me  what  will  happen?" 

"Nothing  will  happen,"  said  Gorman.  "Two  or 
three  muddled-headed  young  fools  at  the  Curragh  will 
get  court-martialled.  That's  all.  What  I  wanted  to 
see  you  about  is  this  new  invention  of  Tim's.  There's 
really  something  in  it." 

"Gorman,"  I  said.  "You're  fiddling  while  Rome  is 
burning.  How  can  you  reconcile  it  to  your  conscience 


GOSSAMER  179 

to  play  with  cinematographs  when  a  horrible  con- 
spiracy is  threatening  life  and  liberty?" 

"Surely,"  said  Gorman,  "you  don't  really  believe 
that  we  plotted,  as  they  call  it,  to  murder  people  in 
Belfast?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  you  did  or  not,"  I  said. 
"But  that's  not  the  conspiracy  I'm  alluding  to.  Look 
here." 

I  pulled  out  of  my  pocket  the  three  papers  which  I 
had  meant  for  Lady  Kingscourt  and  showed  Gorman 
the  articles  about  the  fashionable  ladies  seducing  sol- 
diers. 

"You  can't  expect  our  side,"  I  said,  "to  sit  down  un- 
der this  kind  of  thing  without  a  struggle.  We  shall 
make  counter  accusations.  I  shall  do  it  myself  if  no- 
body else  does.  I'm  warning  you  beforehand,  Gor- 
man, so  that  you  won't  be  surprised  when  you  find 
your  character  in  rags." 

Gorman  looked  at  his  watch. 

"I  know  you  like  talking  that  sort  of  nonsense,"  he 
said,  "and  I  don't  mind  listening,  not  a  bit ;  but  just  let 
me  ask  you  this  before  you  start.  Will  you  come 
down  with  me  this  evening  and  see  Tim's  invention? 
If  you  will  I'll  order  a  motor  from  Harrod's  or  some- 
where, and  we'll  run  down  after  dinner.  There's  no 
use  going  in  broad  daylight,  for  we  can't  see  the  thing 
properly  till  after  dark." 

"I  shall  be  delighted,"  I  said. 

"Very  well.  Excuse  me  a  moment  while  I  go  and 
get  on  the  'phone  to  engage  the  motor." 

I  waited,  feeling  a  little  sore.     I  daresay  I  do  talk 


i8o  GOSSAMER 

nonsense  and  like  talking  it,  but  no  politician  who  ever 
lived  has  a  right  to  tell  me  so.  I  intended  to  greet 
Gorman  when  he  returned  with  the  proverb  about 
living  in  glass  houses  and  throwing  stones.  He  came 
back,  smiling  radiantly.  My  ill-humour  passed  away 
at  once. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "go  on  with  what  you  were  telling 
me." 

"I  pointed  out  to  you,"  I  said,  "that  duchesses, 
marchionesses,  countesses,  and  other  abandoned 
women  of  that  kind  have  been  flirting  with  military 
officers  in  such  a  way  as  to  interfere  with  the  govern- 
ing of  this  country  in  accordance  with  the  principles 
of  democracy." 

"Is  that  what  they  say?"  said  Gorman. 

He  picked  up  one  of  the  papers  which  I  had  laid  on 
the  table  and  satisfied  himself  that  the  thing  was  really 
in  print. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "they  had  to  say  something.  I 
daresay  people  will  believe  them.  The  English  are  an 
extraordinarily  credulous  race,  fools  in  fact.  That's 
why  I'm  a  Home  Ruler." 

"You  must  remember,"  I  said,  "that  I'm  a  Union- 
ist." 

"Are  you?  Speaking  confidentially,  now,  are  you 
really?" 

"My  father  was,"  I  said,  "and  I  don't  like  to  see 
these  things  in  print  about  the  party  without  making 
some  kind  of  reply.  What  I'm  thinking  of  doing  is 
writing  a  sort  of  circular  letter  to  all  the  papers  on 
our  side  and  saying  that  to  my  certain  knowledge  you 


GOSSAMER  181 

and  Mrs.  Ascher  have  been  using  undue  and  unfair 
influence  over  each  other  for  the  last  six  months.  If 
it's  wrong  for  a  woman  to  talk  politics  to  a  soldier  it 
must  be  much  more  wrong  for  one  to  talk  art  to  a 
politician." 

"Mrs.  Ascher,"  said  Gorman,  "is  an  extraordinary 
woman.  The  more  I  see  of  her,  the  less  inclined  I 
am  to  be  surprised  at  anything  she  says  or  does.  She's 
tremendously  keen  just  now  on  Home  Rule  and  Ire- 
land generally." 

"That  is  amazing,"  I  said. 

"It  isn't  in  itself,"  said  Gorman,  "but  the  way  she 
gets  at  it  is.  I  mean  that  theory  of  hers  about " 

"Yes.  I  know.  She  will  insist  on  thinking  that  you 
and  everybody  else  on  your  side  are  artists." 

"And  yet,"  said  Gorman,  "I  can't  persuade  her  to 
look  at  Tim's  new  invention." 

Mrs.  Ascher's  prejudice  against  cinematographs, 
improved  or  unimproved,  was  certainly  strong.  I 
found  it  hard  to  understand  exactly  how  she  felt.  She 
found  no  difficulty  in  regarding  Gorman,  a  devoted 
politician,  as  a  hero.  When  she  had  no  objection  to 
the  form  of  entertainment  with  which  he  provided  the 
public,  it  was  difficult  to  see  why  she  kicked  against 
moving  pictures.  I  should  have  thought  that  the  per- 
formances at  Westminster  were  considerably  more 
vulgar,  certainly  far  less  original  and  striking,  than 
the  things  shown  on  the  cinematograph. 

Gorman  and  I  dined  at  Scott's,  chiefly  on  lobsters, 
at  seven  o'clock,  an  uncomfortably  early  hour.  We 
had  a  twenty-five-mile  drive  before  us  to  reach  the 


farm,  somewhere  in  the  depths  of  Hertfordshire, 
where  Tim  was  making  his  experiments.  The  drive 
was  a  very  pleasant  one.  The  first  part  of  it  lay  along 
one  of  the  great  artery  roads  which  lead  from  the 
centre  of  London  to  the  North.  The  evening  was  fine 
and  warm  without  being  stuffy,  one  of  those  evenings 
which  are  the  peculiar  glory  of  the  early  English 
summer.  It  seemed  to  me  that  many  thousands  of 
people  were  passing  along  that  road  towards  the  coun- 
try. Parties  of  laughing  boys  and  girls  pedalled  north- 
wards on  bicycles,  swerving  in  and  out  through  the 
traffic.  Stout,  middle-aged  men,  with  fat,  middle- 
aged  women  beside  them,  drove  sturdy  ponies,  or 
lean,  high-stepping  horses,  in  curious  old-fashioned 
gigs.  Motor  cyclists,  young  men  with  outstretched 
chins  and  set  faces,  sped  by  us,  outstripping  our  car. 
Others  we  passed,  riders  who  had  side  cars  attached 
to  their  cycles,  young  men  these,  too,  but  soberer, 
weighted  with  responsibility.  They  had  their  wives 
in  the  side  cars,  wives  who  looked  little  more  than 
girls,  though  many  of  them  held  babies  in  their  arms, 
and  one  now  and  then  had  a  well-grown  child  wrapped 
in  rugs  at  her  feet. 

"Life!"  said  Gorman,  waving  his  cigar  comprehen- 
sively towards  the  moving  crowds.  "Wonderful  thing 
life !  Keeps  going  on.  Don't  know  why  it  should,  but 
it  does.  Nothing  seems  to  make  any  difference 
to  it." 

"Not  even  your  politics,"  I  said.  "Curious  thing, 
isn't  it,  how  little  all  that  fuss  of  yours  matters?  It 
doesn't  make  any  difference  which  of  your  parties  is 


GOSSAMER  183 

in  power.  All  this  goes  on  just  the  same.  That  young 
fellow — there,  the  one  who  didn't  quite  break  his  neck 
at  the  lamp  post — would  go  down  to  his  office  to-mor- 
row exactly  as  he  always  does,  if  every  member  of  the 
House  of  Commons  dies  in  the  night.  You  see  that 
girl  with  the  baby — the  one  on  our  left — she'd  have 
had  that  baby  just  the  same  if  the  Long  Parliament 
were  still  sitting.  None  of  your  laws  could  have  made 
her  have  that  baby,  or  stopped  her.  You  are  simply 
fussing  in  an  unimportant  way,  raising  silly  little  clouds 
of  dust  which  will  settle  down  again  at  once.  She's 
keeping  the  world  going  and  she  probably  doesn't  even 
know  the  name  of  the  Prime  Minister." 

"That's  all  very  well,"  said  Gorman,  "but  we're  see- 
ing that  these  people  get  their  rights,  their  fair  share 
of  what's  going.  If  it  wasn't  for  us  and  the  laws  we 
pass,  the  rich  would  grow  richer  and  richer  while 
these  men  and  women  would  gradually  sink  into  the 
position  of  slaves.  I'm  not  a  socialist.  I  don't  believe 
in  that  theory;  but  capitalists  have  had  things  far  too 
much  their  own  way  in  the  past." 

"Ascher !" 

"Oh,  Ascher!  I  like  Ascher,  of  course,  personally; 
but  speaking  of  him  as  a  typical  member  of  a  class, 
he's  simply  a  parasite.  All  financiers  are.  He  ought 
to  be  abolished,  wiped  out,  done  away  with.  He  ful- 
fils no  useful  function." 

Our  motor  sped  along.  A  cycle  with  a  side  car  just 
kept  pace  with  us  for  a  while.  A  nice,  clean-shaven, 
honest-looking  young  fellow  was  in  the  saddle.  His 
girl-wife  sat  beside  him  in  the  basket-work  slipper 


i&j.  GOSSAMER 

which  he  dragged  along.  It  was  her  baby  which  I  had 
pointed  out  to  Gorman  a  moment  before. 

"Perhaps,"  I  said,  "they  have  had  tinned  peaches 
for  tea." 

"Very  likely,"  said  Gorman,  "just  the  sort  of  thing 
they  would  have.  I  know  that  class.  Lived  among 
them  for  years.  He  comes  home  at  half  past  six. 
She  has  put  on  a  clean  blouse  and  tidied  her  hair  so 
that  he'll  kiss  her,  and  he  does.  Then  he  kisses  the 
baby,  probably  likes  doing  that,  too,  as  it's  the  first. 
Then  he  has  a  wash  and  she  brings  in  the  tea.  Bread 
and  butter  for  her  with  a  pot  of  marmalade,  an  egg — 
at  this  time  of  year  certainly  an  egg — for  him." 

"And  tinned  peaches." 

"Eaten  with  teaspoons  out  of  saucers,"  said  Gor- 
man, "and  they'll  enjoy  them  far  more  than  you  did 
that  lobster  salad  at  Scott's." 

"I'm  sure  they  will.  And  that  is  just  where  Ascher 
comes  in." 

"I  don't  see  it,"  said  Gorman,  "unless  you  mean 
that  they'd  be  eating  hothouse  peaches  if  there  were 
no  Aschers." 

I  did  not  mean  that.  I  am,  indeed,  pretty  sure  that 
if  there  were  no  Aschers,  if  Gorman  succeeded  in  abol- 
ishing the  class,  neither  the  city  clerk,  nor  his  pretty 
wife,  nor  any  one  else  in  England  would  eat  hothouse 
peaches.  There  would  not  be  any.  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  if  Ascher  were  done  away  with  there  would 
not  even  be  any  tinned  peaches.  Tinned  peaches  come 
from  California.  Somebody  grows  them  there.  That 
man  must  be  kept  going,  fed,  clothed  sufficiently, 


GOSSAMER  185 

housed,  while  the  peach  trees  grow.  He  must  be 
financed.  Somebody  else  collects  the  peaches,  puts 
them  into  tins,  solders  air-tight  lids  on  them,  pastes 
labels  round  them.  He  works  with  borrowed  money. 
Somebody  packs  the  tins  in  huge  cases,  puts  them  in 
trains,  piles  them  into  ships,  despatches  them  to  Lon- 
don, getting  his  power  to  do  these  things  in  some  mys- 
terious way  from  Ascher. 

"While  she  washes  up  the  cups  and  saucers,"  said 
Gorman,  "he  brings  round  that  motor  cycle." 

"Paid  for,"  I  said,  "in  monthly  instalments." 

"Probably,"  said  Gorman,  "with  a  deposit  of  £25  to 
start  with." 

"It's  Ascher,"  I  said,  "who  makes  that  possible." 

"It's  Ascher,"  said  Gorman,  "who  makes  that  neces- 
sary. If  it  were  not  for  Ascher's  rake-off,  the  tax 
he  levies  on  every  industry,  the  machine  could  be 
bought  right  out  for  the  original  £25  and  there  would 
be  no  instalments  to  be  paid." 

Possibly.  But  the  tires  of  the  machine  were  made 
of  rubber.  I  remembered  my  visit  to  Para,  the  broad, 
steaming  Amazon,  the  great  ships  crawling  slowly  past 
walls  of  forest  trees,  the  pallid  white  men,  the  melan- 
choly Indians.  It  may  be  possible  to  devise  some  other 
means  of  getting  the  precious  gum  from  the  Brazilian 
forest ;  but  at  present  the  whole  business  is  dependent 
on  Ascher. 

We  left  that  motor  cycle  behind  us  at  last  and  sped 
faster  along  a  stretch  of  road  where  the  traffic  was 
less  dense. 

"You  notice,"  said  Gorman,  "the  way  London  is 


i86  GOSSAMER 

swallowing  up  the  country.  That  was  once  a  rural 
inn." 

I  had  observed  what  Gorman  pointed  out  to  me. 
Here  and  there  along  the  road,  a  mile  or  so  apart  from 
each  other,  we  came  on  old  buildings,  a  group  of  cot- 
tages, a  farm  house,  an  inn.  These  were  solidly  built 
after  the  good  old  fashion.  It  had  seemed  wasteful  to 
pull  them  down.  The  waves  of  the  advancing  tide 
of  London  reached  them,  passed  them,  swept  beyond 
them,  left  them  standing. 

"Quite  a  few  years  ago,"  said  Gorman,  "those 
houses  stood  in  the  middle  of  fields,  and  the  people 
who  lived  in  them  ate  the  food  that  grew  at  their 
doors." 

"No  tinned  peaches,"  I  said,  "no  bicycles." 

"And  no  Ascher,"  said  Gorman. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "we  can't  go  back." 

"In  Ireland,"  he  said,  "we  needn't  go  on.  If  we 
can  only  get  clear  of  this  cursed  capitalistic  civilisation 
of  England — that's  what  I  mean  by  being  a  Home 
Ruler." 

"You  think,"  I  said,  "that  we  should  be  too  wise  to 
accept  the  yoke  of  Ascher,  to  barter  our  freedom  for 
tinned  peaches." 

"We'll  get  the  tinned  peaches,  too." 

"No,  you  won't.  If  you  have  civilisation — and  that 
includes  a  lot  of  things  besides  tinned  peaches,  to- 
bacco for  instance,  Gorman.  If  you  want  a  cigar 
you'll  have  to  put  up  with  Ascher.  But  I  daresay 
you'd  be  better  without  it.  Only  I  don't  think  I'll 
live  in  your  Ireland,  Gorman." 


GOSSAMER  187 

We  passed  away  from  London  in  the  end,  got  out 
beyond  the  last  tentative  teachings  of  the  speculative 
builder,  into  country  lane-ways.  There  were  hedges 
covered  with  hawthorn,  and  the  scent  of  it  reached 
us  as  we  rushed  past.  Gorman  threw  away  a  half- 
smoked  cigar.  Perhaps  he  wanted  to  enjoy  the  coun- 
try smells.  Perhaps  he  was  preparing  himself  for  life 
in  the  new  Ireland  which  he  hoped  to  bring  into  being. 

We  reached  the  barn  in  which  Tim  Gorman  lived, 
at  about  nine  o'clock.  He  was  waiting  for  us,  dressed 
in  his  best  clothes.  I  knew  they  were  his  best  clothes 
because  they  were  creased  all  over  in  wrong  places, 
showing  that  they  had  been  packed  away  tightly  in 
some  receptacle  too  small  to  hold  them.  It  is  only 
holiday  clothes  which  are  treated  in  this  way.  Be- 
sides putting  on  this  suit,  Tim  had  paid  us  the  com- 
pliment of  washing  his  face  and  hands  for  the  first 
time,  I  imagine,  for  many  days. 

He  shook  hands  with  me  shyly,  and  greeted  his 
brother  with  obvious  nervousness. 

"I  have  everything  ready,"  he  said,  "quite  ready. 

But  I  can't  promise You  may  be  disappointed 

I've  had  endless  difficulties If  you  will  allow  me 

to  explain " 

"Not  a  bit  of  good  explaining  to  us,"  said  Gorman. 
"All  we're  capable  of  judging  is  the  results." 

Tim  sighed  and  led  us  into  the  barn. 

It  was  a  large,  bare  room,  ventilated — no  one  could 
say  it  was  lit — by  three  or  four  unglazed  openings  in 
the  wall.  These  Tim  blocked  with  hay  so  as  to  ex- 
clude the  lingering  twilight  of  the  summer  evening. 


i88  GOSSAMER 

At  one  end  of  the  building  was  a  stage,  built,  I 
thought,  of  fragments  of  packing  cases.  It  was  very 
hard  to  be  sure  about  anything,  for  we  had  nothing  ex- 
cept the  light  of  two  candles  to  see  by,  but  the  stage 
looked  exceedingly  frail.  I  should  not  have  cared  to 
walk  across  it.  However,  as  it  turned  out,  that  did 
not  matter.  The  stage  was  used  only  by  ghosts,  the 
phantoms  which  Tim  created,  and  they  weighed  noth- 
ing. Tim  himself,  when  it  became  necessary  for  him 
to  adjust  some  part  of  his  apparatus,  crept  about  un- 
derneath the  stage. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  barn  was  an  optical  lantern, 
fitted  with  the  usual  mechanism  for  the  exhibition  of 
films.  Half  way  down  the  room  was  a  camp  bedstead, 
covered  with  one  brown  blanket.  Tim  invited  us  to 
sit  on  it. 

"It  doesn't  often  break  down,"  he  said. 

"If  it  breaks  down  at  all,"  said  Gorman,  "I'll  not 
risk  it.  I'd  rather  sit  on  the  floor." 

Gorman  is  a  heavy  man.  I  think  he  was  right  to 
avoid  the  bed.  I  sat  down  cautiously  on  one  end  of 
it.  The  middle  part  looked  more  comfortable,  but  I 
felt  more  secure  with  the  legs  immediately  underneath 
me. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Tim,  "quite  all  right.  I  fixed  it 
just  before  you  came  in." 

That  bed,  a  tin  basin  and  two  very  dirty  towels  were 
the  only  articles  of  household  furniture  in  the  place.  I 
suppose  Tim  had  his  meals  with  the  farmer  who 
owned  the  barn.  No  inspired  artist,  toiling  frenziedly 
with  a  masterpiece  in  a  garret,  ever  lived  a  more  Spar- 


GOSSAMER  189 

tan  life  than  Tim  Gorman  did  in  that  barn.  Whatever 
money  he  had  was  certainly  not  spent  on  his  personal 
comfort.  On  the  other  hand,  a  good  deal  of  money 
had  been  spent  on  tools  and  material  of  various  kinds. 
Packing  cases  stood  piled  together  against  the  walls. 
The  straw  in  which  their  contents  had  been  wrapped 
littered  the  floor.  I  discerned,  as  my  eyes  got  used  to 
the  gloom,  a  quantity  of  carpenters'  tools  near  the 
stage,  and,  beside  them,  a  confused  heap  of  the  mys- 
terious implements  of  the  plumber's  trade. 

While  I  was  looking  round  me  and  the  elder  Gor- 
man was  wriggling  about  on  the  floor,  Tim  worked 
the  lantern  behind  our  backs.  The  thing,  or  some 
part  of  it,  hissed  in  an  alarming  way.  Then  it  made 
a  whirring  noise  and  a  bright  beam  of  light  shot  across 
the  room.  A  very  curious  thing  happened  to  that 
light.  Instead  of  splashing  against  the  far  wall  of  the 
barn,  exhibiting  the  cracks  and  ridges  of  the  masonry, 
it  stopped  at  the  stage  and  spread  itself  in  a  kind  of 
irregular  globe.  We  sat  in  the  dark.  Across  the 
room  stretched  the  shaft  of  intense  light,  making  the 
dust  particles  visible.  Then,  just  as  when  a  child 
blows  soap  bubbles  through  a  tube,  the  light  became 
globular. 

"Put  out  the  candles,"  said  Tim. 

They  stood,  flaming  feebly,  on  the  floor  between 
Gorman  and  me.  I  extinguished  them.  Tim's  ma- 
chine gave  a  sharp  click.  Figures  appeared  suddenly 
in  the  middle  of  the  globe  of  light.  A  man,  then  two 
women,  then  a  dog.  I  do  not  know,  and  at  the  time  I 
did  not  care  in  the  least,  what  the  figures  were  sup- 


190  GOSSAMER 

posed  to  be  saying  or  doing.  It  was  sufficient  for  me 
that  they  were  there.  I  saw  them,  not  as  flat,  sharply 
outlined  silhouettes,  but  as  if  they  had  been  solid 
bodies.  I  saw  them  with  softened  outlines,  through 
two  eyes  instead  of  a  monocle.  I  saw  them  sur- 
rounded by  an  atmosphere. 

"Pretty  good,  isn't  it?"  said  Gorman.  "Tim,  turn 
on  that  running  girl.  I  want  Sir  James  to  see  how  you 
get  the  effect  of  her  going  further  and  further  away." 

The  running  girl  was  the  best  thing  accomplished 
by  the  old  cinematograph.  I  never  witness  her  race 
without  a  certain  feeling  of  breathlessness.  But  Tim's 
girl  ran  far  better.  She  was  amazingly  real.  When 
she  had  finished  her  course,  Gorman  struck  a  match 
and  lit  the  candles  again. 

"That'll  do,  Tim,"  he  said.    "We've  seen  enough." 

"I'd  like  to  show  you  the  horses,"  said  Tim.  "I 
think  the  horses  galloping  are  the  best  thing  I've 
got" 

"We'll  take  your  word  for  the  horses,"  said  Gor- 
man. "Shut  off  that  light  of  yours  and  stop  the 
whizzing  noise.  I  want  to  talk."  He  turned  to  me. 
"Well?" 

"It's  marvellous,"  I  said. 

"There's  money  in  it/'  said  Gorman.  "Piles  and 
piles  of  money.  The  only  question  is,  Who's  to  get 
it?" 

"Tim,"  I  said,  "is  the  one  who  deserves  it." 

"Tim  will  get  his  share  whatever  happens.  The  real 
question  is,  How  are  we  to  prevent  Ascher  grabbing 
all  the  rest?" 


GOSSAMER  191 

Tim  had  finished  quieting  his  machine  and  came 
over  to  us. 

"Michael,"  he  said,  "I  want  £100." 

"What  for?" 

"I  want  more  mirrors.  The  ones  I'm  using  aren't 
perfect.  I  must  have  others." 

"The  ones  you  have,"  said  Gorman,  "are  good 
enough  for  the  present.  When  we  get  a  bit  further 
on  and  see  how  this  business  is  going  to  be  managed, 
we  may  get  you  other  mirrors." 

"Very  well,"  said  Tim,  "I'll  ask  Ascher  for  the 
money.  He'll  give  it  to  me.  I'd  have  asked  him  a 
week  ago  only  you  made  me  promise  not  to  take  any 
more  money  from  him  without  telling  you." 

"If  you  take  money  from  Ascher,"  said  Gorman, 
"he'll  simply  collar  your  whole  invention.  You'll  find 
in  the  end  that  it  will  be  his,  not  yours.  He'll  get 
every  penny  that's  made  out  of  it,  and  then  he'll 
tell  you  that  you  owe  him  more  than  you  can  pay. 
I've  told  you  all  along  that  that's  what  will  happen  if 
you  go  borrowing  from  Ascher." 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Tim,  "so  long  as  I  get  it  per- 
fected I  don't  care  what  happens." 

"Damn !"  said  Gorman. 

There  was  some  excuse  for  him.  Tim's  attitude 
was  hopelessly  unpractical. 

"Don't  you  see,"  said  Tim,  "that  this  is  a  won- 
derful thing?  It's  one  of  the  greatest  things  that 
any  one  has  done  for  a  long  time.  It's  a  new 
thing." 

The  note  of  weak  obstinacy  which  was  in  his  voice 


192  GOSSAMER 

when  he  first  spoke  had  died  out  of  it.  He  was  plead- 
ing with  his  brother  as  a  child  might  beg  for  some- 
thing from  a  grown-up  man. 

"That's  exactly  what  I  do  see,"  said  Gorman. 

"Then  why  won't  you  let  me  perfect  it  ?  It  doesn't 
matter — sure,  you  know  yourself,  Michael,  that  it 
doesn't  matter  what  happens  if  only  I  get  it  right." 

I  thought  for  a  moment  that  the  boy  was  going  to 
cry.  He  pulled  himself  together  with  a  sort  of  choked 
sob  and  then  suddenly  flashed  into  a  rage. 

"I  will  ask  Ascher  for  the  money,"  he  said.  "I 
will,  I  will.  Damn  you,  Michael!  I'll  give  it  all  to 
Ascher,  everything  I  have.  Everything  I  ever  invent. 
I'll  tell  him  all  I've  found  out.  I'll  make  it  his." 

Then  with  another  swift  change  of  mood  the  boy 
turned  to  me  and  began  to  plead  again. 

"Tell  him  to  give  me  the  money,"  he  said.  "Or 
make  him  let  me  ask  Ascher  for  it.  He'll  do  it  if  you 
speak  to  him.  I  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  Michael. 
I  don't  want  to  do  anything  he  says  is  wrong.  But  I 
must  have  that  money.  Don't  you  see  I  must  ?  I  can't 
get  on  without  it  ?" 

"Listen  to  me,  Tim,"  I  said ;  "if  I  give  you  the  £100 
you  want " 

"I  could  manage  with  £100,"  said  Tim.  "But  it 
would  be  much  better  if  I  had  ^150." 

"A  hundred,"  I  said,  "and  no  more.  If  I  give  it 
to  you,  will  you  promise  to  bring  that  apparatus  of 
yours  up  to  London  and  exhibit  your  results  to  a  few 
friends  of  mine  there?" 

"Yes,  I  will.     Of  course  I  will.     May  I  order  the 


GOSSAMER  193 

new  mirrors  to-morrow  and  say  that  you'll  pay  for 
them?" 

"You  may.    But  remember " 

"Oh,  that  will  be  all  right,"  said  Tim.  "As  soon  as 
ever  it  is  perfected " 

"Perfect  or  imperfect,"  I  said,  "you've  promised  to 
show  it  off  when  I  ask  you  to." 

Gorman  and  I  drove  home  together.  At  first  he 
would  do  nothing  except  grumble  about  his  brother's 
childish  obstinacy. 

"Can't  understand,"  he  said,  "how  any  man  with 
brains  can  be  such  a  fool." 

Then  when  he  had  worked  off  the  fine  edge  of  his 
irritation  he  began  to  thank  me. 

"It  was  good  of  you,  very,"  he  said,  "to  put  down 
the  money.  I'd  have  done  it  myself,  if  I  could  have 
laid  my  hand  on  the  amount  he  wanted.  But  just  at 
this  moment  I  can't.  All  the  same  I  don't  see  what 
good  that  £100  is  going  to  do.  The  thing's  perfect 
enough  for  all  practical  purposes  already.  I  saw  noth- 
ing wrong  with  it." 

"Nor  did  I." 

"Then  what  the  devil  does  he  want  to  do  with  it? 
If  the  thing  works  all  right,  what's  the  sense  of 
tinkering  with  it?" 

"That's  the  artistic  soul,"  I  said,  "never  satisfied,  al- 
ways reaching  upwards  towards  the  unattained.  It's 
the  same  with  Mrs.  Ascher." 

"Of  all  the  damned  idiocies,"  said  Gorman,  "that 
artistic  soul  is  the  damnedest." 

I  said  nothing  more  for  several  minutes.    I  knew  it 


194  GOSSAMER 

would  take  Gorman  some  time  to  recover  from  the 
mention  of  the  artistic  soul.  When  I  thought  he  had 
regained  his  self-possession  I  went  on  speaking. 

"My  idea,"  I  said,  "is  to  hire  a  small  hall,  and  to 
invite  a  number  of  well-off  people  to  see  Tim's  show. 
You'll  want  money  in  the  end,  you  know." 

"Not  much,"  said  Gorman.  "A  few  thousands  will 
be  enough.  It  isn't  as  if  we  had  to  manufacture  any- 
thing." 

"If  you  get  what  you  want,"  I  said,  "in  small  sums 
from  a  number  of  people,  you'll  be  able  to  keep  con- 
trol of  the  thing  yourself,  and  you  needn't  be  afraid 
of  Ascher.  Not  that  I  believe  Ascher  would  swindle 
you.  I  think  Ascher's  an  honest  man." 

"Ascher's  a  financier,"  said  Gorman.  "That's 
enough  for  me." 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

I  NEVER  suspected  Malcolmson  of  the  cheap  kind 
of  military  ardour  which  shows  itself  in  the  gird- 
ing on  of  swords  after  the  hour  of  danger  is  past.  He 
is  the  kind  of  man  who  likes  taking  risks,  and  I  have 
not  the  slightest  doubt  that  if  he  had  really  known 
beforehand  that  the  Government  was  "plotting"  to  in- 
vade Ulster  he  would  have  been  found  entrenched,  with 
a  loaded  rifle  beside  him,  on  the  north  bank  of  the 
Boyne.  What  I  did  think,  when  he  left  London  sud- 
denly to  place  himself  at  the  head  of  his  men,  was 
that  he  had  been  a  little  carried  away  by  the  excite- 
ment of  the  times ;  that  he  was  moved,  as  many  people 
are,  when  startling  events  happen,  to  do  something, 
without  any  very  distinct  idea  of  what  is  to  be  done. 
But  even  that  suspicion  wronged  Malcolmson.  Either 
he  or  some  one  else  had  devised  an  effective  counter- 
plot; effective  considered  as  a  second  act  in  a  comic 
opera.  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  say  comic  opera. 
There  is  a  certain  reasonableness  in  the  schemes  of 
every  comic  opera.  Our  affairs  in  the  early  part  of 
1914  were  moving  through  an  atmosphere  like  that 
of  "Alice  in  Wonderland."  The  Government  was  a 
sort  of  Duchess,  affecting  to  regard  Ulster  as  the 
baby  which  was  beaten  when  it  sneezed  because  it 
could  if  it  chose  thoroughly  enjoy  the  pepper  of  Home 

195 


196  GOSSAMER 

Rule.  The  Opposition,  on  the  other  hand,  with  its 
eye  also  on  Ulster,  kept  saying  in  tones  of  awestruck 
warning,  "Beware  the  Jabberwock,  my  son."  Mal- 
colmson  seemed  to  be  a  kind  of  White  Knight,  lovable, 
simple-minded,  chivalrous,  but  a  little  out  of  place  in 
the  world. 

However,  Malcolmson  and  his  friends,  considered 
as  characters  in  "Alice  in  Wonderland,"  were  effective, 
far  more  effective  than  the  poor  White  Knight  ever 
was.  They  bought  a  lot  of  guns  somewhere,  perhaps 
in  Hamburg.  They  hired  a  ship  and  loaded  her  with 
the  guns.  They  sailed  her  into  Larne  Harbour  and 
said  to  the  Government,  "Now,  come  on  if  you  dare." 

The  Government,  having  previously  issued  a  solemn 
proclamation  forbidding  the  importation  of  arms  into 
Ireland,  took  up  the  attitude  of  Mr.  Winkle  and  said 
it  was  just  going  to  begin.  It  rolled  up  its  sleeves  and 
clenched  its  fists  and  said  for  the  second  time  and 
with  considerable  emphasis  that  it  was  just  going  to 
begin,  Malcolmson  danced  about,  coat  off,  battle  light 
in  eye,  and  kept  shouting :  "Come  on !"  The  Govern- 
ment, taking  off  its  collar  and  tie,  said:  "Just  you 
wait  till  I  get  at  you." 

Gorman  took  a  sane,  though  I  think  incorrect,  view 
of  the  situation. 

"The  English  people,"  he  said,  "are  hopeless  fools. 
It's  almost  impossible  to  deal  with  them.  They  are 
actually  beginning  to  believe  that  Ulster  is  in  earnest." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "that's  only  fair.  They've  been  be- 
lieving that  you're  in  earnest  for  quite  a  long  time 
now.  Ulster  ought  to  have  its  turn." 


GOSSAMER  197 

Gorman,  though  a  politician,  is  essentially  a  just 
man.  He  admitted  the  truth  of  what  I  had  said.  He 
went  further.  He  admitted  that  Malcolmson's  coup 
was  exceedingly  well  conceived. 

"It's  just  the  sort  of  thing,"  he  said,  "which  ap- 
peals to  Englishmen.  Reason  is  wasted  on  them." 

"Don't  be  too  hard  on  the  English,"  I  said.  "It's 
the  same  everywhere  in  the  world.  Government 
through  the  people,  of  the  people,  by,  with,  from,  to 
and  for  the  people,  is  always  unreasonable." 

"It's  the  theatrical  which  pays,"  said  Gorman.  "I 
didn't  think  those  fellows  in  Belfast  had  brains  enough 
to  grasp  that  fact,  but  apparently  they  have.  I  must 
say  that  this  gun-running  performance  of  theirs  is 
good.  It  has  the  quality  which  Americans  describe  as 
'punch.'  It  has  stirred  the  popular  imagination.  It 
has  got  right  across  the  footlights.  It  has  fetched  the 
audience." 

"Awkward  situation  for  you,"  I  said. 

"We'll  have  to  do  something,"  said  Gorman. 

"Arrest  the  ringleaders  ?    Imprison  Malcolmson  ?" 

"Lord,  no.  We  may  be  fools,  but  we're  not  such 
fools  as  that." 

"Still,"  I  said,  "he's  broken  the  law.  After  all,  a 
party  like  yours  in  close  alliance  with  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  country  must  do  something  to  maintain 
the  majesty  of  the  law." 

"Law  be  damned,"  said  Gorman.  "What  the  devil 
does  law  matter  to  us  or  the  Government  either? 
What  we've  got  to  consider  is  popular  opinion." 

"And  that,"  I  said,  "seems  to  be  setting  against  you. 


198  GOSSAMER 

According  to  the  theory  of  democracy  as  I  understand 
it,  you're  bound  to  go  the  way  popular  opinion  is 
blowing  you.  You  can't,  without  gross  inconsistency, 
start  beating  to  windward  against  it." 

"Winds  sometimes  change,"  said  Gorman. 

"They  do.  This  one  has.  It  was  all  in  your  favour 
a  fortnight  ago.  Now,  what  with  your  'plot'  and  this 
really  striking  little  episode  in  Larne " 

"The  art  of  government,"  said  Gorman,  "consists  in 
manipulating  the  wind,  making  it  blow  the  way  it's 
wanted  to.  What  we've  got  to  do  is  to  go  one  better 
than  the  Ulster  men." 

"Ah,"  I  said,  "they  imported  rifles.  You  might 
land  a  shipload  of  large  cannons.  Is  that  the 
idea?" 

"They  needn't  necessarily  be  real  cannons.  I  don't 
think  our  funds  would  run  to  real  cannons.  Besides, 
what  good  would  they  be  when  we  had  them?  But 
you've  got  the  main  idea  all  right.  Our  game  is  to 
pull  off  something  which  will  startle  the  blessed  British 
public,  impress  it  with  the  fact  that  we're  just  as  des- 
perate as  the  other  fellows." 

"What  about  the  police?"  I  said.  "The  police  have 
always  had  a  down  on  your  side.  It's  a  tradition  in 
the  force." 

"The  police  aren't  fools,"  said  Gorman.  "They 
know  jolly  well  that  any  policemen  who  attempted  to 
interfere  with  our  coup,  whatever  it  may  be,  would 
simply  be  dismissed.  After  all,  we're  not  doing  any 
harm.  We're  not  going  to  shoot  any  one.  We're 
simply  going  to  influence  public  opinion.  Every  one 


GOSSAMER  199 

has  a  right  to  do  that.  By  the  way,  did  I  mention  that 
my  play  is  being  revived?  Talking  of  public  opinion 
reminded  me  of  it.  It  had  quite  a  success  when  it  was 
first  put  on." 

Gorman  is  charming.  He  never  sticks  to  one  sub- 
ject long  enough  to  be  really  tiresome. 

"I'm  delighted  to  hear  it,"  I  said.  "I  hope  it  will 
do  even  better  this  time." 

"It  ought  to,"  said  Gorman.  "We've  got  a  capital 
press  agent,  and,  of  course,  my  name  is  far  better 
known  than  it  was.  It  isn't  every  day  the  public  gets 
a  play  written  by  a  Member  of  Parliament." 

"Where  is  it  to  be  produced?" 

"The  Parthenon.    Good  big  house." 

The  Parthenon  is  one  of  the  largest  of  the  London 
Music  Halls.  Gorman's  play  was,  I  suppose,  to  take 
its  place  in  the  usual  way  between  an  exhibition  of 
pretty  frocks  with  orchestral  accompaniment  and  an 
imitation  of  the  Russian  dancers. 

"I  shall  be  there,"  I  said,  "on  the  first  night.  You 
can  count  on  my  applause." 

It  occurred  to  me  after  Gorman  left  me  that  the  re- 
vival of  his  play  offered  me  an  excellent  opportunity 
of  entertaining  the  Aschers.  Ascher  had  been  ex- 
ceedingly kind  to  me  in  giving  me  letters  of  introduc- 
tion to  all  the  leading  bankers  in  South  America.  Mrs. 
Ascher  had  been  steadily  friendly  to  me.  I  owed 
them  something  and  had  some  difficulty  about  the  best 
way  of  paying  the  debt.  I  did  not  care  to  ask  them 
to  dinner  in  my  rooms  in  Clarges  Street.  My  land- 
lord keeps  a  fairly  good  cook,  and  I  could,  I  daresay, 


200  GOSSAMER 

have  bought  some  wine  which  Ascher  would  have 
drunk.  But  I  could  not  have  managed  any  kind  of 
entertainment  afterwards.  I  did  not  like  to  give  them 
dinner  at  a  restaurant  without  taking  them  on  to  the 
theatre;  and  the  Aschers  are  rather  superior  to  most 
plays.  I  had  no  way  of  knowing  which  they  would 
regard  as  real  drama.  The  revival  of  Gorman's  play 
solved  my  difficulty.  I  knew  that  Mrs.  Ascher  re- 
garded him  as  an  artist  and  that  Ascher  had  the  high- 
est respect  for  his  brilliant  and  paradoxical  Irish  mind. 
After  luncheon  I  took  a  taxi  and  drove  out  to  Hamp- 
stead.  I  owed  a  call  at  the  house  in  any  case  and,  if 
Mrs.  Ascher  happened  to  be  at  home,  I  could  arrange 
the  whole  matter  with  her  in  the  way  that  would  suit 
her  best. 

Mrs.  Ascher  was  at  home.  She  was  in  the  studio, 
a  large  bare  room  at  the  back  of  the  house.  Gorman 
was  with  her. 

I  saw  at  once  that  Mrs.  Ascher  was  in  a  highly  emo- 
tional condition.  I  suspected  that  Gorman  had  been 
talking  to  her  about  the  latest  wrong  that  had  been 
done  to  Ireland,  his  Ireland,  by  the  other  part  of  Ire- 
land which  neither  he  nor  Mrs.  Ascher  considered  as 
Ireland  at  all.  On  the  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
there  was  a  little  group  on  which  Mrs.  Ascher  had 
been  at  work  earlier  in  the  day.  A  female  figure  stood 
with  its  right  foot  on  the  neck  of  a  very  disagreeable 
beast,  something  like  a  pig,  but  prick-eared  and  hairy. 
It  had  one  horn  in  the  middle  of  its  forehead.  The 
female  figure  was  rather  well  conceived.  It  was  ap- 
pealing, with  a  sort  of  triumphant  confidence,  to  some 


GOSSAMER  201 

power  above,  heaven  perhaps.  The  prick-eared  pig 
looked  sulky. 

"Emblematic,"  said  Gorman,  "symbolical." 

"The  Irish  party,"  I  said,  "trampfing  on  Belfast." 

"The  spirit  of  poetry  in  Ireland,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher, 
"defying  materialism." 

"That,"  I  said,  "is  a  far  nicer  way  of  putting  it." 

I  took  another  look  at  the  spirit  of  poetry.  Mrs. 
Ascher  was  evidently  beginning  to  understand  Ire- 
land. Instead  of  being  nude,  or  nearly  nude,  as  spirits 
generally  are,  this  one  was  draped  from  head  to  foot. 
In  Ireland  we  are  very  particular  about  decency,  and 
we  like  everything  to  have  on  lots  of  clothes. 

"But  now,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher,  tragically,  "the  brief 
dream  is  over.  Materialism  is  triumphant,  is  armed, 
is  mighty." 

I  looked  at  Gorman  for  some  sort  of  explanation. 

"I've  just  been  telling  Mrs.  Ascher,"  he  said,  "about 
the  gun-running  at  Larne." 

"The  mailed  fist,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher,  "will  beat  into 
the  dust  the  tender  shoots  of  poesy  and  all  high  im- 
aginings; will  crush  the  soul  of  Ireland,  and  why? 
Oh,  why?" 

"Perhaps  it  won't,"  I  said.  "My  own  idea  is  that 
Malcolmson  doesn't  mean  to  use  those  guns  aggres- 
sively. He'll  keep  quite  quiet  unless  the  soul  of  poetry 
in  Ireland  goes  for  him  in  some  way." 

"We  can  make  no  such  compromise,"  said  Mrs. 
Ascher.  "Art  must  be  all  or  nothing,  must  be  utterly 
triumphant  or  else  perish  with  uncontaminated  soul." 

"The  exclusion  of  Ulster  from  the  scope  of  the 


202  GOSSAMER 

Bill,"  said  Gorman,  "is  the  latest  proposition;  but  we 
won't  agree  to  it." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "it's  your  affair,  not  mine.  I  mean 
to  stay  in  London  and  keep  safe ;  but  I  warn  you  that 
if  the  spirit  of  poesy  attempts  to  triumph  utterly  over 
Malcolmson  he'll  shoot  at  it.  I  know  him  and  you 
don't.  You  think  he's  a  long-eared  pig,  but  that  ought 
to  make  you  all  the  more  careful.  Pigs  are  noted  for 
their  obstinacy." 

"What  we've  got  to  do,"  said  Gorman,  "is  devise 
some  way  of  countering  this  new  move.  Something 
picturesque,  something  that  newspapers  will  splash 
with  big  headlines/' 

I  do  not  think  that  Mrs.  Ascher  heard  this.  She 
was  looking  at  the  upper  part  of  the  window  with  a 
sort  of  rapt,  Joan  of  Arc  expression  of  face.  I  felt 
that  she  was  meditating  lofty  things,  probably  trying 
to  hit  on  some  appropriate  form  of  self-sacrifice. 

"I  shall  go  among  the  people,"  she  said,  "your  peo- 
ple, my  people,  for  I  am  spiritually  one  of  them.  I 
shall  go  from  cottage  to  cottage,  from  village  to  vil- 
lage, walking  barefooted  along  the  mountain  roads, 
dressed  in  a  peasant  woman's  petticoat.  They  will 
take  me  for  one  of  themselves  and  I  shall  sing  war 
songs  to  them,  the  great  inspiring  chants  of  the  heroes 
of  old.  I  shall  awake  them  to  a  sense  of  their  high 
destiny.  I  shall  set  the  young  men's  feet  marching, 
thousands  and  thousands  of  them.  I  shall  fill  the 
women's  hearts  with  pride." 

Then,  for  the  first  and  only  time  since  I  have  known 
him,  Gorman's  patience  gave  way.  I  do  not  blame 


GOSSAMER  203 

him.  The  thought  of  Mrs.  Ascher  as  an  Irish  peasant, 
singing  street  ballads  outside  public  houses,  would 
have  upset  the  temper  of  Job. 

"That's  all  very  well,"  he  said,  "but  the  other  people 
have  the  guns." 

"We  must  have  guns,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher,  "and 
shining  swords  and  long  spears  tipped  with  light.  Buy 
guns." 

With  a  really  impressive  gesture  she  dragged  the 
rings  from  the  fingers,  first  of  one  hand,  then  of  the 
other,  and  flung  them  on  the  ground  at  Gorman's  feet. 
Even  when  working  in  her  studio  Mrs.  Ascher  wears 
a  great  many  rings. 

"Buy.    Buy,"  she  said. 

She  unclasped  the  necklace  which  she  wore  and 
flung  it  down  beside  the  rings.  It  was  a  pearl  neck- 
lace, but  not  by  any  means  the  handsomest  pearl  neck- 
lace she  owned. 

"More,"  she  said,  "you  must  have  more." 

She  pranced  out  of  the  room,  stepping  high,  like 
an  actress  taking  a  part  in  one  of  Shakespeare's  plays 
or  a  well-bred  carriage  horse. 

"Gorman,"  I  said,  "you're  not  going  to  take  her 
wedding  ring,  are  you?  I  don't  think  you  ought  to. 
Ascher's  really  fond  of  her  and  I'm  sure  he  wouldn't 
like  it." 

"I  wish  to  goodness,"  said  Gorman,  "that  she 
wouldn't  behave  in  this  wild  way.  If  she  wants  to 
subscribe  to  the  party  funds  why  doesn't  she  write 
a  cheque  instead  of  shying  jewellery  at  me?  I  should 
certainly  be  arrested  on  suspicion  if  I  went  to  try 


204  GOSSAMER 

and  pawn  those  things.  Nobody  would  believe  that 
she  gave  them  to  me." 

He  picked  up  the  rings  as  he  spoke  and  laid  them 
in  a  row  on  the  table. 

"If  we  don't  get  her  stopped,"  he  said,  "she'll  have 
everybody  laughing  at  us." 

"Laughing  at  you,  Gorman,  not  at  me.  I've  nothing 
to  do  with  the  poetic  soul  of  Ireland.  It's  your 
property." 

"The  English  have  no  real  sense  of  humour,"  said 
Gorman. 

"They've  got  quite  enough  to  see  this  joke,"  I  said. 
"An  owl  would  giggle  if  it  saw  Mrs.  Ascher  going 
barefoot  about  Ireland  and  you  following  her  round 
carrying  a  long  spear  tipped  with  light  in  your 
hand." 

"We  must  stop  her,"  said  Gorman.  "Oh,  damn! 
Here  she  is  again." 

Mrs.  Ascher  came  in  carrying  a  large  morocco 
leather  covered  box,  her  jewel  case,  I  suppose.  She 
was  a  little  calmer  than  when  she  left  us  but  still  very 
determined. 

"Take  this,"  she  said.  "Take  all  there  is  in  it.  I 
give  it  gladly — to  Ireland." 

Gorman  looked  at  the  jewel  case  and  then  pulled 
himself  together  with  an  effort. 

"Mrs.  Ascher,"  he  said,  "your  gift  is  princely, 
but " 

"I  give  it  freely,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher. 

"And  I  shall  receive  it,"  said  Gorman,  "receive  it 
as  the  gift  of  a  queen,  given  with  queenly  generosity. 


GOSSAMER  205 

I  shall  receive  it  when  the  hour  comes,  but  the  time 
is  not  yet." 

Gorman  rising  to  an  occasion  is  a  sight  which  fills 
me  with  admiration.  That  promise  of  a  time  to  come 
was  masterly.  I  should  never  have  thought  of  it; 
but  of  course  it  came  more  easily  to  Gorman  than 
it  would  to  me.  He  is  a  politician  and  accustomed 
to  draw  cheques  on  rather  distant  futures. 

"Our  people,"  said  Gorman,  "are  as  yet  unpre- 
pared, not  ready  to  face  the  crisis  of  their  destiny. 
Keep  these."  Gorman  laid  his  hand  on  the  jewel  box 
as  if  giving  it  a  sort  of  benediction,  consecrating  its 
contents  to  the  service  of  Ireland.  "Keep  these  as  a 
sacred  trust  until  the  hour  is  upon  us." 

I  very  nearly  applauded.  Mrs.  Ascher  seemed  a 
little  disappointed. 

"Why  not  now  ?"  she  said.  "Why  should  we  delay 
any  longer?" 

"We  must  trust  our  leaders,"  said  Gorman.  "They 
will  tell  us  when  the  time  for  action  comes." 

That  would  have  been  good  enough  for  any  ordi- 
nary constituency.  It  did  not  satisfy  Mrs.  Ascher.  I 
saw  her  looking  a  little  doubtfully  at  Gorman.  She 
is  a  curious  woman.  She  uses  the  very  finest  kind 
of  language  herself;  but  she  always  gets  suspicious 
when  any  one  else  talks  about  sacred  trusts  and  things 
of  that  kind.  The  fact  is,  I  suppose,  that  she  means 
what  she  says,  lives,  as  well  as  talks,  finely.  Gorman 
and  I  do  not — quite. 

I  felt  that  Gorman  needed  and  deserved  a  little 
help.  He  had  done  well  enough  so  far,  but  he  scarcely 


206  GOSSAMER 

understood  how  near  to  the  edge  of  Mrs.  Ascher's 
credulity  he  had  gone. 

"What  Mr.  Gorman  means,"  I  said,  "is  that  you 
must  have  men,  organised,  you  know,  and  drilled,  be- 
fore you  can  give  them  guns.  Just  at  present  there 
are  very  few  volunteers  in  Mr.  Gorman's  part  of 
Ireland.  He's  going  to  enroll  a  lot  more.  When  he 
has  them  he'll  ask  you  for  a  subscription  for  the 
gun  fund." 

I  did  not  think  that  Mrs.  Ascher  was  really  satis- 
fied. In  the  light  of  subsequent  events  I  found  out 
that  she  certainly  was  not.  But  she  said  no  more  at 
the  moment  and  made  no  further  effort  to  press  her 
jewel  case  on  Gorman.  I  did  not  feel  that  the  moment 
was  a  good  one  for  giving  her  the  invitation  I  had 
planned.  It  is  impossible,  without  something  like 
indecency,  to  invite  a  woman  to  dinner  in  a  restaurant 
while  she  is  meditating  a  barefooted  pilgrimage 
through  the  wild  places  of  Holy  Ireland. 

Gorman  and  I  left  the  house  together.  I  hired  a 
taxi  to  take  us  home  so  that  we  could  talk  com- 
fortably. 

"Extraordinary  woman,"  I  said. 

"Very,  very.  But  don't  let's  talk  about  her.  That 
was  rather  a  good  idea  of  yours.  May  be  something 
in  it." 

"I  didn't  know  I  had  an  idea,"  I  said.  "Are  you 
sure  you're  not  mixing  me  up  with  Mrs.  Ascher? 
She  has  lots." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Gorman.  "It  was  you  who  sug- 
gested organising  the  National  Volunteers." 


GOSSAMER  207 

There  was  at  that  time  in  Ireland  a  small  number 
of  extreme  patriots  who  rather  admired  Malcolmson 
because  they  thought  he  was  going  to  fight  against 
England,  and  despised  Gorman  because  they  knew 
he  was  not.  These  men  had  enrolled  themselves  in 
a  semi-military  organisation  and  called  themselves  the 
National  Volunteers.  Gorman  and  his  friends  did 
their  best  to  suppress  them  and  kept  all  mention  of 
their  existence  out  of  the  English  papers  as  far  as 
possible.  It  surprised  me  to  hear  him  speak  in  a 
casual  way  of  organising  these  declared  enemies 
of  his. 

"You  can't  do  that,"  I  said.  "Those  fellows  hate 
you  like  poison,  worse  than  Malcolmson  does.  They're 
— well,  I  should  call  them  rebels.  They  certainly 
won't  do  what  you  tell  them." 

"Oh,  yes,  they  will,  if  treated  properly.  My  idea  is 
to  flood  the  organisation  with  reliable  men,  fellows 
we  can  trust.  When  we've  got  a  majority  of  our 
own  people  enrolled  we'll  tell  them  to  elect  their  own 
leaders,  democratic  idea.  Army  choosing  its  own  offi- 
cers. Sure  to  catch  on." 

"Sure  to,  and  then?" 

"Oh,  then  they'll  elect  us.  See?  Every  member 
of  Parliament  will  be  a  colonel.  We  needn't  drill  or 
anything;  but  there's  nothing  to  prevent  our  saying 
that  we  have  200,000  trained  men.  The  Ulster  fel- 
lows have  gone  no  trumps  on  their  100,000 " 

"I  should  be  inclined  to  say  gone  No  Home  Rule." 

Gorman  grinned. 

"Gone  no   something,"   he   said,   "and   we   double 


208  GOSSAMER 

them.  I  expect  that  will  set  English  opinion  swinging 
round  again." 

"It  ought  to,"  I  said,  "but  why  bother  about  all 
these  preliminaries?  Why  put  everybody  in  Ireland 
to  the  trouble  of  enrolling  themselves  in  a  new  organi- 
sation and  electing  officers  and  all  that?  It's  just  as 
easy  to  say  you  have  200,000  trained  men  before  being 
made  a  colonel  as  afterwards." 

"You  don't  understand  politics,"  said  Gorman.  "In 
politics  there  must  be  a  foundation  of  some  sort  for 
every  fact.  It  needn't  be  much  of  a  foundation,  but 
there  must  be  some." 

"Hard  on  the  Irish  people,"  I  said,  "being  put  to 
all  that  trouble  and  bother  just  to  make  a  founda- 
tion." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Gorman.  "They'll  like  it.  But 
I  hope  to  goodness  that  fanatic  woman  won't  insist 
on  our  buying  guns.  It  would  be  the  devil  and  all  if 
the  fellows  I'm  thinking  about  got  guns  in  their  hands. 
You  simply  couldn't  tell  what  they'd  do.  You'll  have 
to  try  and  keep  Mrs.  Ascher  quiet." 

"I'm  going  to  ask  her  to  dine  with  me  and  go  to  see 
your  play,"  I  said.  "That  may  distract  her  mind 
from  guns  for  a  while." 

"You  use  your  influence  with  her,"  said  Gorman. 
"I've  the  greatest  belief  in  influence." 

He  has. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

A I AHAT  evening  I  wrote  my  invitation  to  the 
•*-  Aschers.  They  immediately  accepted  it,  express- 
ing the  greatest  pleasure  at  the  prospect  of  seeing 
Gorman's  play  again. 

I  arranged  to  have  dinner  at  the  Berkeley  and 
ordered  it  with  some  care,  avoiding  as  far  as  I  could 
the  more  sumptuous  kinds  of  restaurant  food,  and 
drawing  on  my  recollection  of  the  things  Ascher  used 
to  eat  when  Gorman  ordered  his  dinner  for  him  on 
the  Cunard  steamer.  With  the  help  of  the  head 
waiter  I  chose  a  couple  of  wines  and  hoped  that 
Ascher  would  drink  them.  As  it  turned  out  he  pre- 
ferred Perrier  water.  But  that  was  not  my  fault.  No 
restaurant  in  London  could  have  supplied  the  delicate 
Italian  white  wines  which  Ascher  drinks  in  his  own 
house. 

We  dawdled  over  dinner  and  I  lengthened  the  busi- 
ness out  as  well  as  I  could  by  smoking  three  cigarettes 
afterwards,  very  slowly.  I  did  not  want  to  reach  the 
Parthenon  in  time  for  the  musical  display  of  new 
frocks.  I  could  not  suppose  that  Ascher  was  inter- 
ested in  seeing  a  number  of  young  women  parading 
along  a  platform  through  the  middle  of  the  theatre 
even  though  they  wore  the  latest  creations  of  Paris 
fancy  in  silks  and  lingerie.  I  knew  that  Mrs.  Ascher 

209 


210  GOSSAMER 

would  feel  it  her  duty  to  make  some  sort  of  protest 
against  the  music  of  the  orchestra. 

Gorman  had  told  me  the  hour  at  which  his  play 
might  be  expected  to  begin  and  my  object  was  to 
hit  off  the  time  exactly.  Unfortunately  I  miscalcu- 
lated and  got  to  the  theatre  too  soon.  The  last  of 
the  young  women  was  waving  a  well-formed  leg  at 
the  audience  as  we  entered  the  box  I  had  engaged. 
I  realised  that  we  should  have  to  sit  through  a  whole 
tune  from  the  orchestra  before  the  curtain  went  up 
again  for  Gorman's  play.  I  expected  trouble  and 
was  pleasantly  surprised  when  none  came.  Mrs. 
Ascher  had  a  cold.  I  daresay  that  made  her  slightly 
deaf  and  mitigated  the  torture  of  the  music. 

She  sat  forward  in  the  box  and  looked  round  at 
the  audience  with  some  show  of  interest.  The  audi- 
ence looked  at  her  with  very  great  interest.  Her 
clothes  that  night  were  more  startling  than  any  I  have 
ever  seen  her  wear.  A  young  man  in  the  stalls  stared 
at  her  for  some  time,  and  then,  just  when  I  thought 
he  had  fully  taken  her  in,  bowed  to  her.  She  turned 
to  Ascher. 

"Who  is  that?"  she  said.  "The  man  in  the  fifth 
row,  three  seats  from  the  end,  yes,  there.  He  has  a 
lady  with  him." 

I  saw  the  man  distinctly,  a  well-set-up  young  fellow 
with  a  carefully  waxed,  fair  moustache.  The  way 
his  hair  was  brushed  and  something  about  the  cut  of 
his  clothes  made  me  sure  that  he  was  not  an  English- 
man. The  lady  with  him  was,  quite  obviously,  not  a 
lady  in  the  old-fashioned  sense  of  the  word.  She 


GOSSAMER  211 

seemed  to  me  the  kind  of  woman  who  would  have  no 
scruples  about  forming  a  temporary  friendship  with  a 
man  provided  he  would  give  her  dinner,  wine,  and 
some  sort  of  entertainment. 

Ascher  fumbled  for  his  pince-nez,  which  he  carries 
attached  to  a  black  silk  ribbon.  He  fixed  them  on  his 
nose  and  took  a  good  look  at  the  young  man. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "my  nephew,  Albrecht  von  Richter. 
You  remember  him.  He  dined  with  us  two  or  three 
times  when  we  were  in  Berlin  in  1912.  I  did  not  know 
he  was  in  London." 

I  somehow  got  the  impression  that  Ascher  was  not 
particularly  pleased  to  see  his  nephew  Albrecht. 
Ascher  was  not  looking  very  well.  I  had  not  seen 
him  for  some  time,  and  I  noticed  even  at  dinner  that 
his  face  was  pale  and  drawn.  In  the  theatre  he 
seemed  worse  and  I  thought  that  the  sudden  appear- 
ance of  his  nephew  had  annoyed  him.  The  young 
man  whispered  something  to  his  companion  and  left 
his  seat.  The  orchestra  was  still  thrashing  its  way 
through  its  tune  and  there  seemed  no  immediate  pros- 
pect of  the  curtain  going  up. 

A  few  minutes  later  there  was  a  tap  at  the  door  of 
our  box  and  Von  Richter  came  in.  Mrs.  Ascher  held 
out  her  hand  to  him.  He  bent  over  it  and  kissed  it 
with  very  pretty  courtesy.  He  shook  hands  with 
Ascher  who  introduced  him  to  me. 

"Captain  von  Richter — Sir  James  Digby." 

Von  Richter  bowed  profoundly.     I  nodded. 

"Have  you  been  long  in  London?"  said  Ascher. 
"You  did  not  let  me  know  that  you  were  here." 


212  GOSSAMER 

"I  arrived  here  this  afternoon,"  said  Von  Richter, 
"only  this  afternoon,  at  five  o'clock." 

He  spoke  English  remarkably  well,  with  no  more 
than  a  trace  of  foreign  accent. 

"I've  been  in  Ireland,"  he  said,  "for  six  weeks." 

"Indeed!"  said  Ascher.    "In  Ireland?" 

He  was  looking  at  his  nephew  without  any  expres- 
sion of  surprise,  apparently  without  any  suggestion 
of  inquiry;  but  I  could  not  help  noticing  that  his 
fingers  were  fidgeting  with  the  ribbon  of  his  pince-nez. 
Ascher,  as  a  rule,  does  not  fidget.  He  has  his  nerves 
well  under  control. 

Mrs.  Ascher  was  frankly  excited  when  she  heard 
that  Von  Richter  had  been  in  Ireland. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  "all  about  Ireland.  About  the 
people,  what  they  are  saying  and  thinking." 

"We  are  all,"  I  said,  "tremendously  interested  in 
Irish  politics  at  present." 

"Alas !"  said  Von  Richter,  "and  I  can  tell  you  noth- 
ing. My  business  was  dull.  I  saw  very  little.  I  was 
in  Dublin  and  Belfast,  not  in  the  picturesque  and  beau- 
tiful parts  of  that  charming  country.  I  was  buying 
horses.  Oh,  there  is  no  secret  about  it.  I  was  buying 
horses  for  my  Government." 

It  is  certainly  possible  to  buy  horses  in  Dublin  and 
Belfast ;  but  I  was  slightly  surprised  to  hear  that  Von 
Richter  had  not  been  further  afield.  Any  one  who 
understood  horse-buying  in  Ireland  would  have 
gone  west  to  County  Galway  or  south  to  County 
Cork. 

The  band  showed  signs  of  getting  to  the  end  of  its 


GOSSAMER  213 

tune.  Von  Richter  laid  his  hand  on  the  door  of  the 
box. 

"Shall  I  see  you  to-morrow?"  said  Ascher. 

"Unfortunately,"  said  Von  Richter,  "I  leave  London 
early  to-morrow  morning.  Back  to  Berlin  and  the 
drill  yard."  He  kissed  Mrs.  Ascher's  hand  again. 
"We  poor  soldiers  have  to  work  hard." 

"Perhaps,"  I  said,  "you  can  join  us  at  the  Carlton 
after  the  play.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ascher  have  promised 
to  have  supper  there  with  me.  If  you  are  not 
engaged ?" 

I  glanced  at  the  lady  in  the  stalls.  I  was  not  going 
to  ask  her  to  supper. 

"I  shall  be  delighted,"  said  Von  Richter.  "I  have 
no  engagement  of  any  importance." 

The  lady  in  the  stalls  was  evidently  the  sort  of 
lady  who  could  be  dismissed  without  trouble. 

"Good,"  I  said,  "we  leave  directly  this  play  is  over ; 
but  you  may  want  to  see  the  rest  of  the  performance. 
The  dancing  is  good  I  am  told.  Join  us  at  the  Carlton 
as  soon  as  you're  tired  of  this  entertainment." 

Von  Richter  slipped  away.  The  curtain  went  up 
almost  immediately. 

Gorman  came  in  to  receive  our  congratulations  as 
soon  as  his  play  was  over.  I  asked  him  to  join  our 
supper  party  but  he  had  an  engagement  of  his  own,  a 
supper  at  the  Savoy.  I  do  not  blame  him.  The  lady 
who  acted  the  principle  part  in  his  play  had  been  very 
charming.  She  deserved  any  supper  that  Gorman 
could  give  her. 

We  reached  the  Carlton  very  early,  long  before 


214  GOSSAMER 

the  rush  of  supper  parties  began.  Von  Richter  joined 
us  as  we  sat  down  at  the  table.  He  was  an  intelligent, 
agreeable  young  man  with  plenty  of  tact.  He  listened 
and  was  apparently  interested  while  Mrs.  Ascher 
poured  out  her  hopes  and  fears  for  Ireland's  future. 
When  she  came,  as  she  did  in  the  end,  to  her  own 
plan  of  buying  guns  for  the  Nationalist  Volunteers 
Von  Richter  became  almost  enthusiastic. 

"You  Americans,"  he  said.  "You  are  always  on 
the  side  of  the  oppressed.  Alone  among  the  nations 
of  the  earth  you  have  a  pat  for  the  head  of  the 
bottom  dog." 

Von  Richter's  English  is  not  only  correct,  it  is 
highly  idiomatic.  Mrs.  Ascher  bridled  with  pleasure. 
It  pleased  her  to  think  that  she  was  patting  the  bot- 
tom dog's  head.  I  did  not  remind  her  that  in  the 
group  which  she  had  just  modelled  the  Spirit  of  Irish 
Poetry,  for  whose  benefit  she  intended  to  buy  guns, 
had  got  its  foot  firmly  planted  on  the  pig.  That  ani- 
mal— and  I  still  believed  it  to  represent  Belfast — was 
the  one  which  a  tender-hearted  American  ought  to 
have  patted. 

"Perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  assist  you,"  said  Von 
Richter,  "I  know  something  of  rifles.  That  is  my 
trade,  you  know.  If  I  can  be  of  any  help — there  is  a 
firm  in  Hamburg " 

He  was  glancing  at  Ascher  as  he  spoke.  He  won- 
dered, I  suppose,  how  far  Ascher  was  committed  to 
the  scheme  of  arming  Gorman's  constituents.  But 
Ascher  did  not  appear  to  be  listening  to  him.  He 
had  allowed  me  to  pour  out  some  champagne  for  him 


GOSSAMER  215 

and  sat  fingering  the  stem  of  his  glass  without 
drinking. 

No  one  was  eating  or  drinking  much.  I  proposed 
that  we  should  leave  the  supper  room  and  have  our 
coffee  in  the  hall  outside.  I  felt  slightly  uncomfort- 
able at  the  turn  the  conversation  was  taking.  Mrs. 
Ascher  was  very  much  in  earnest  about  Ireland.  Von 
Richter,  I  suppose,  really  knew  where  to  buy  guns. 
I  entirely  agreed  with  Gorman  that  the  distribu- 
tion of  firearms  in  Ireland  was  a  most  undesirable 
thing. 

"I  always  think,"  I  said,  "that  one  of  the  things 
to  do  in  London  is  to  watch  the  people  going  in  and 
out  of  the  supper  room  here.  There  is  nothing  quite 
like  it  anywhere  in  the  world.  It  is  the  best  example 
there  is  of  the  pride  of  life,  'superbia  vitae.'  I  for- 
get the  Greek  words  at  the  moment;  but  a  bishop 
whom  I  happen  to  know  once  told  me  that  they  mean 
the  exultation  of  living.  You  know  the  sort  of  thing 
— gems  and  glitter,  colour,  scent,  beauty,  stateliness, 
strength.  'The  pride  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of 
power.' " 

I  made  way  for  Mrs.  Ascher  and  followed  her  as 
she  moved  among  the  tables  towards  the  staircase  at 
the  end  of  the  room.  Von  Richter  hooked  his  arm 
in  Ascher's  and  spoke  a  few  sentences  to  him  rapidly 
in  German.  He  spoke  without  making  any  attempt 
to  lower  his  voice.  He  evidently  did  not  think  it 
likely  that  any  one  within  earshot,  except  Ascher, 
would  understand  German.  We  reached  the  hall  and 
secured  comfortable  seats,  from  which  we  could  watch 


216  GOSSAMER 

the  long  procession  of  men  and  women  which  was 
already  beginning  to  stream  towards  the  supper  room. 
I  ordered  coffee,  brandy  and  tobacco,  cigars  for  Von 
Richter  and  myself,  a  box  of  cigarettes  for  Mrs. 
Ascher.  Ascher  refused  to  smoke  and  did  not  touch 
his  brandy. 

Our  little  party  divided  itself  into  halves.  I  do 
not  know  how  it  happened  but  Von  Richter  managed 
to  get  himself  placed  beside  Mrs.  Ascher  in  such  a 
way  that  his  back  was  partly  turned  to  me.  General 
conversation  became  impossible.  Von  Richter  and 
Mrs.  Ascher  talked  to  each  other  eagerly  and  some- 
how seemed  to  get  further  away  from  Ascher  and 
me.  They  were  still  discussing  the  landing  of  guns  in 
Ireland,  in  Connaught,  I  think.  After  a  while  I 
could  no  longer  hear  what  they  said.  Ascher  began 
to  talk  to  me. 

A  party,  two  young  women  and  one  older  one  with 
three  men  behind  them,  passed  us  and  ascended  the 
staircase  to  the  supper  room. 

"There  is  something  very  fine,"  said  Ascher,  "about 
the  insolence  of  well-bred  Englishwomen.  You  see 
how  they  walk  and  how  they  look,  straight  in  front 
of  them.  It  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  walk  well  across 
a  long  brightly  lighted  space  with  many  eyes  watch- 
ing." 

I  am  not  sure  that  I  like  Ascher's  word  "insolence." 
I  recognise  the  quality  which  he  intended  to  describe, 
which  is,  I  think,  the  peculiar  possession  of  English 
women  of  a  certain  class;  but  I  should  not  call  it 
insolence. 


GOSSAMER  217 

Another  party  fluttered  past  us,  a  man  and  a 
woman. 

"There,"  said  Ascher,  "is  a  French  woman.  She  is 
Madame  de  Berthier,  the  wife  of  one  of  the  Ministers 
in  the  last  Government,  a  very  prominent  woman  in 
Paris.  I  know  her  pretty  well,  but  even  if  I  did  not 
know  her  I  should  recognise  her  as  French.  You  see 
that  she  is  conscious  all  the  time  that  she  is  a  woman 
and  therefore  that  men's  eyes  are  on  her.  She  does 
not  escape  from  that  consciousness.  If  a  German 
lady  were  to  pass  us  we  should  see  that  she  also  is 
sex  conscious;  but  she  would  be  aware  that  she  is 
only  a  woman,  the  inferior  of  the  men  with  her.  The 
Englishwoman  does  not  admit,  does  not  feel,  that  she 
has  any  superiors  and  she  can  walk  as  if  she  did  not 
care  whether  people  looked  at  her  and  admired  her 
or  not.  Even  the  American  woman  cannot  or  does  not 
do  that.  She  wants  te  please  and  is  always  trying 
to  please.  The  Englishwoman  is  not  indifferent  to 
admiration  and  she  tries  to  please  if  she  thinks  it 
worth  while.  But  she  has  learnt  to  bear  herself  as 
if  she  does  not  care;  as  if  the  world  and  all  that  is  in 
it  were  hers  of  right." 

Two  men — one  of  them  almost  forty  years  of  age, 
the  other  much  younger — walked  slowly  up  the  hall 
looking  to  right  and  left  of  them.  They  failed  to 
find  the  friends  whom  they  sought.  The  elder  spoke 
a  few  words  and  they  sat  down  opposite  to  us,  prob- 
ably to  wait  until  the  rest  of  their  party  should 
arrive. 

"The  men  of  your   English   upper  classes,"   said 


218  GOSSAMER 

Ascher,  "are  physically  very  splendid,  the  sons  of  the 
women  we  have  been  looking  at  are  sure  to  be  that. 
They  possess  a  curious  code  of  honour,  very  limited, 
very  irrational,  but  certainly  very  fine  as  far  as  it 
goes.  And  I  think  they  are  probably  true  to  it." 

"I  should  have  said,"  I  replied,  "that  the  idea  of 
honour  had  almost  disappeared,  what  used  to  be  called 
the  honour  of  a  gentleman." 

"You  do  not  really  think  that,"  said  Ascher.  "Or 
perhaps  you  may.  In  a  certain  sense  honour  has 
disappeared  among  your  upper  classes.  It  is  no  longer 
displayed.  To  the  outsider  it  is  scarcely  noticeable. 
It  is  covered  up  by  affectation  of  cynicism,  of  greed, 
of  selfishness.  To  pose  as  .cynical  and  selfish  is  for 
the  moment  fashionable.  But  the  sense  of  honour — 
of  that  singular  arbitrary  English  honour — is  behind 
the  pose,  is  the  reality.  Look  at  those  two  men 
opposite  us.  They  are  probably — but  perhaps  I  offend 
you  in  talking  this  way.  You  yourself  belong  to  the 
same  class  as  those  men." 

"You  do  not  offend  me  in  the  least,"  I  said.  "I'm 
not  an  Englishman  for  one  thing.  Gorman  won't 
let  me  call  myself  Irish,  but  I  stick  to  it  that  I'm  not 
English.  Please  go  on  with  what  you  were  say- 
ing." 

"Those  men,"  said  Ascher  slowly,  "are  probably 
self  indulgent.  Their  morality — sex  morality — is  most 
likely  very  low.  We  may  suppose  that  they  have 
many  prejudices  and  very  few  ideas.  They — I  do  not 
know  those  two  personally.  I  take  them  simply  as 
types  of  their  class.  They  are  wholly  indifferent  to, 


GOSSAMER  219 

even  a  little  contemptuous  of  art  and  literature.  But 
if  it  happened  that  a  duty  claimed  them,  a  duty  which 
they  recognised,  they  would  not  fail  to  obey  the  call. 
I  can  believe  for  instance  that  they  would  fight,  would 
suffer  the  incredible  hardships  of  a  soldier's  life, 
would  endure  pain  and  would  die,  without  any  heroics 
or  fuss  or  shouting.  Men  of  my  class  and  my  train- 
ing could  not  do  those  things  without  great  effort. 
Those  men  would  do  them  simply,  naturally." 

"Ascher,"  I  said,  "I  have  a  confession  to  make  to 
you.  I  understand  German.  I  happen  to  know  the 
language,  learned  it  as  a  boy."  Ascher  looked  at  me 
curiously  for  a  moment.  I  do  not  think  that  he  was 
much  surprised  at  what  I  said  or  that  my  confession 
made  him  uneasy. 

"Ah!  You  are  thinking  of  what  my  nephew  said 
to  me  as  we  left  the  supper  room.  You  heard  ?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  felt  like  an  eavesdropper,  but  I 
couldn't  help  myself.  He  spoke  quite  loudly." 

"And  you  understood?" 

As  a  matter  of  fact  I  had  not  understood  at  the 
moment.  Von  Richter  said  very  little,  and  what  little 
he  said  concerned  Ascher's  business  and  had  nothing 
to  do  with  me.  He  told  Ascher  to  move  very  cau- 
tiously, to  risk  as  little  as  possible,  to  keep  the  money 
of  his  firm  within  reach  for  a  few  months.  That,  as 
well  as  I  can  remember,  was  all  he  said;  but  he  re- 
peated it.  "Your  money  should  be  realisable  at  a 
moment's  notice." 

"You  understood?"  said  Ascher,  patiently  per- 
sistent. 


220  GOSSAMER 

"I  don't  understand  yet,"  I  said,  "but  what  you 
have  just  said  about  Englishmen  being  capable  of 
fighting  has  put  thoughts  into  my  mind.  Did  Captain 
von  Richter  mean ?" 

"He  meant  to  warn  me,"  said  Ascher,  "that  what  I 
have  always  looked  forward  to  with  horror  and  dread 
is  imminent — a  great  war.  You  remember  a  talk  we 
had  long  ago  in  New  York;  the  night  we  were  at  the 
circus  and  saw  the  trapeze  swingers.  Well,  if  my 
nephew  is  right,  the  whole  delicate  balance  of  that 
performance  is  going  to  be  upset.  There  will  be  a 
crash,  inevitably." 

"And  you?" 

Ascher  smiled  faintly. 

"For  me  as  well  as  for  the  others,"  he  said.  "The 
fact  that  my  affairs  are  greater  than  those  of  most 
men  will  only  make  my  fall  the  worse." 

"But  you  have  been  warned  in  time." 

"I  scarcely  needed  the  warning.  I  was  aware  of 
the  danger.  My  nephew  only  told  me  what  I  knew. 
His  warning,  coming  from  him,  an  officer  who  stands 
high  in  the  German  military  service — it  confirms  my 
fears,  no  more." 

"But  you  can  save  yourself  and  your  business,"  1 
said.  "Knowing  what  is  before  you,  you  can — you 
need  not  lend  money,  accept  obligations.  You  can 
gradually  draw  out  of  the  stream  of  credit  in  which 
your  fortune  is  involved,  get  into  a  backwater  for  a 
while.  You  have  time  enough.  I  am  expressing 
myself  all  wrong;  but  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"I  know.    And  you  think  I  ought  to  do  that  ?" 


GOSSAMER  221 

"There  is  no  'ought'  about  it,"  I  said.  "It  is  the 
natural  thing  to  do." 

"You  were  a  soldier  once.    I  think  you  told  me  so." 

I  nodded. 

"Suppose,"  said  Ascher,  "that  this  warning  had 
come  to  you  then,  while  you  were  still  a  soldier.  Sup- 
pose that  you  had  known  what  your  brother  officers 
did  not  know,  or  the  men  under  you,  that  war  was 
coming,  you  would  have  resigned  your  commission. 
Is  it  so?" 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  shouldn't." 

"It  would  have  been,  from  my  point  of  view — for 
I  am  a  coward — it  would  have  been  the  natural  thing 
to  do." 

"It  wouldn't  have  been  natural  to  me,"  I  said.  "I 
couldn't  have  done  it.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I 
couldn't.  I'm  not  professing  to  be  particularly  brave 
or  chivalrous  or  anything  of  that  sort.  But  to  resign 

under  those  circumstances !  Well,  one  doesn't 

do  it." 

"Nor  do  I  know  why,"  said  Ascher,  "but  I  cannot 
do  it  either.  It  is,  you  see,  the  same  thing.  I  must, 
of  course,  go  on;  just  as  you  would  have  felt  your- 
self obliged  to  go  on.  The  warning  makes  no  dif- 
ference." 

The  idea  that  a  banker  feels  about  his  business  as  a 
soldier  does  about  his  profession  was  new  to  me.  But 
I  understood  more  or  less  what  Ascher  meant.  If  he 
had  that  kind  of  sense  of  obligation  there  was  clearly 
no  more  to  be  said  about  the  point. 

"And  England?"  I  said.    "Is  she  to  be  in  it?" 


222  GOSSAMER 

"Who  knows  ?  Perhaps.  Perhaps  not.  I  hope  not. 
The  disaster  will  be  far  less  terrible  if  England  is  able 
to  remain  at  peace." 

"Tell  me  this,"  I  said,  "or  if  I  am  impertinent,  say 
so,  and  I  shall  not  ask  again.  What  was  Captain  von 
Richter  doing  in  Ireland  ?" 

"I  do  not  know.    I  can  only  guess." 

"Not  buying  horses?" 

"I  do  not  suppose  he  went  there  to  buy  horses 
though  he  may  have  bought  some.  He  went  to  see, 
to  learn,  to  understand.  That  is  what  I  guess.  I  do 
not  know." 

"He  has  probably  made  up  his  mind,"  I  said,  "that 
in  the  course  of  the  next  couple  of  months  England 
will  find  herself  with  her  hands  full,  so  full  with  Irish 
affairs  that  it  will  be  impossible  for  her  to  act  else- 
where. A  civil  war  in  Ireland " 

"My  nephew,"  said  Ascher,  "is  not  very  clever.  He 
may  think  that.  He  is,  I  believe,  an  excellent  soldier. 
But  if  he  were  a  banker  I  should  not  employ  him  to 
find  out  things  for  me.  I  should  not  rely  on  the 
reports  he  brought  me.  He  lacks  intelligence.  Very 
likely  he  believes  what  you  have  said." 

"But  you  don't?" 

"No.  I  do  not.  I  do  not  believe  that  Irish  affairs 
will  be  in  such  a  state  that  they  will  determine  Eng- 
land's action.  You  see  I  have  the  privilege  of  know- 
ing Gorman." 

"You  don't  know  Malcolmson,"  I  said,  "and  he's  a 
most  important  factor  in  the  problem.  He's  like  your 
nephew,  an  excellent  soldier,  but  lacking  in  intelli- 


GOSSAMER  223 

gence.  You  don't  realise  what  Malcolmson  is  capable 
of." 

"I  do  not  know  Colonel  Malcolmson  personally," 
said  Ascher.  "I  am  right,  am  I  not,  in  styling  him 
Colonel  Malcolmson?" 

"Yes.  He  retired  some  years  ago  as  Colonel  of 
my  old  regiment." 

"Does  a  man  retire  from  his  loyalty,"  said  Ascher, 
"when  he  retires. from  his  regiment?  Will  your  friend 
give  up  his  honour  because  he  has  given  up  his  com- 
mand ?  Will  he  aid  the  enemies  of  England  ?" 

"Of  course,"  I  said,  "if  you  put  it  to  Malcolmson 
in  that  way He's  a  positive  fanatic  on  the  sub- 
ject of  loyalty.  But  he  doesn't  know,  he  doesn't 
understand.  He  hasn't  had  the  warning  that  your 
nephew  has  just  given  you." 

"You  are  an  Irishman,"  said  Ascher,  "and  you 
ought  to  know  your  countrymen  better  than  I  do. 
But  it  will  surprise  me  very  much  if  England  finds 
herself  hampered  by  Ireland  when  the  crisis  comes." 

It  was  Von  Richter  who  broke  up  our  party.  He 
pleaded  the  necessity  for  early  rising  next  morning 
as  his  excuse  for  going  away  before  the  hour  at  which 
the  law  obliges  people  to  stop  eating  supper  in  res- 
taurants. I  wondered  whether  he  and  Mrs.  Ascher 
had  made  a  satisfactory  plan  for  running  guns  into 
Galway.  According  to  Ascher  it  did  not  make  much 
difference  whether  the  Irish  peasants  had  rifles  in 
their  hands  or  not.  It  was  soothing,  though  hum- 
bling, to  feel  that,  guns  or  no  guns,  Volunteers  or  no 
Volunteers,  Ireland  would  not  matter  in  the  least. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

GORMAN'S  play  achieved  a  second  success.  The 
Parthenon  was  crammed  every  night,  and  it  was 
the  play,  not  the  pretty  dresses  or  the  dancing,  which 
filled  the  house.  Gorman  made  money,  considerable 
sums  of  money.  I  know  this  because  he  called  on 
me  one  morning  in  the  middle  of  July  and  told  me 
so.  He  did  more.  He  offered  me  a  very  sub- 
stantial and  quite  unanswerable  proof  that  he  felt 
rich. 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  he  said,  "I'd  like  to  pay  you 
whatever  you've  spent  on  this  new  invention  of 
Tim's." 

"I  haven't  spent  anything,"  I  said.  "I've  invested 
a  little.  I  believe  in  Tim's  new  cinematograph.  I  ex- 
pect to  get  back  every  penny  I've  advanced  to  him 
and  more." 

This  did  not  satisfy  Gorman.  He  got  out  his  cheque 
book  and  a  fountain  pen. 

"There  was  the  hundred  pounds  you  gave  him  to 
buy  looking  glasses,"  he  said.  "You  didn't  give  him 
more  than  that,  did  you?" 

"Not  so  much,"  I  said.  "The  bill  for  those  mirrors 
was  only  £98-7-6;  and  I  made  the  man  knock  off  the 
seven  and  sixpence  as  discount  for  cash.  I'm  learn- 
ing to  be  a  business  man  by  degrees." 

224 


GOSSAMER  225 

Gorman  wrote  down  £98  on  the  cover  of  his  cheque 
book. 

"And  the  hire  of  the  hall?"  he  said.  "What  will 
that  come  to?" 

I  had  hired  a  small  hall  for  the  exhibition  of  Tim's 
moving  picture  ghosts.  I  had  invited  about  a  hun- 
dred people  to  witness  the  show.  Gorman  himself,  a 
brother  of  the  inventor,  had  promised  to  preside  over 
the  gathering  and  to  make  a  few  introductory  remarks 
on  the  progress  of  science  or  anything  else  that  oc- 
curred to  him  as  appropriate  to  such  an  occasion.  But 
I  could  not  possibly  allow  him  to  pay  for  the  enter- 
tainment. 

"My  dear  Gorman,"  I  said,  "it's  my  party.  The 
people  are  my  friends.  At  least  some  of  them  are. 
The  invitations  have  gone  out  in  my  name.  You 
might  just  as  well  propose  to  pay  for  the  tea  I  mean 
to  offer  them  to  drink  as  for  the  hire  of  the  room  in 
which  I  am  going  to  receive  them." 

"Will  £150  cover  the  whole  show?"  said  Gorman. 

"If  you  insist  on  heaping  insults  on  my  head,"  I 
said,  "I  shall  retire  into  a  nursing  home  and  cancel  all 
the  invitations." 

"You're  an  obstinate  man,"  said  Gorman. 

"Very.    In  matters  of  this  kind." 

"All  the  same,"  said  Gorman,  "I'll  get  rid  of  that 
money.  I  don't  consider  it's  mine.  I  ought  to  have 
paid  for  Tim,  and  I  would,  only  that  I  hadn't  a  penny 
at  the  time." 

"If  you  like  to  give  £150  to  a  charity,"  I  said, 
"that's  your  affair." 


226  GOSSAMER 

"That,"  said  Gorman,  "would  be  waste.  I  rather 
think  I'll  give  a  party  myself." 

He  slipped  his  cheque  book  back  into  his  pocket. 

"Invite  me  to  meet  the  lady  who  acts  in  your  play," 
I  said. 

"Miss  Gibson?"  said  Gorman.  "Right.  Who  else 
shall  we  have?" 

"Why  have  anybody  else?" 

"There  are  difficulties,"  said  Gorman,  "about  the 
rest  of  the  party.  You  wouldn't  care  to  meet  my 
friends." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  would." 

"No,  you  wouldn't.  I  know  you.  You  don't  con- 
sider Irish  Nationalists  fit  to  associate  with.  We're 
not  respectable." 

That  was  putting  it  too  strongly;  but  it  is  a  fact 
that  I  do  not  know,  or  particularly  want  to  know,  any 
of  Gorman's  political  associates. 

"And  your  friends,"  said  Gorman,  "wouldn't  know 
me." 

Again  Gorman  was  guilty  of  over-statement;  but 
my  friends  are,  for  the  most  part,  of  conservative 
and  slightly  military  tastes.  They  would  not  get  on, 
well  with  Gorman. 

"I'll  think  it  over,"  said  Gorman,  "and  let  you 
know." 

Two  days  later  I  got  my  invitation.  Gorman,  in 
the  excitement  of  sudden  great  possessions,  had  de- 
vised an  expensive  kind  of  party.  The  invited  guests 
were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ascher,  Miss  Gibson,  Tim  and 
myself.  We  were  to  voyage  off  from  Southampton  in 


GOSSAMER  227 

a  motor  yacht,  hired  by  Gorman,  to  see  the  Naval 
Review  at  Spithead.  We  were  to  start  at  ten  o'clock 
from  Waterloo  station  in  a  saloon  carriage  reserved 
for  our  party. 

"We  have  to  be  back  in  time  for  Miss  Gibson  to 
go  to  the  theatre,"  Gorman  wrote,  "so  we  must  start 
early.  I  believe  the  show  is  to  be  worth  seeing. 
British  Navy  at  its  best.  King  there.  Royal  salutes 
from  Dreadnoughts.  Rank,  fashion  and  beauty  in 
abundance." 

The  week  was  to  be  one  of  exciting  festivities. 
Gorman  had  fixed  his  party  for  the  day  before  my 
exhibition  of  Tim's  new  invention. 

I  was  shaving — shortly  after  eight  o'clock  on  the 
morning  of  Gorman's  party — when  my  servant  came 
into  my  room. 

"I  beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  "but  there's  a  young 
man  waiting  in  the  hall,  says  that  he  wants  to  see 
you." 

It  seemed  odd  that  any  one  should  want  to  see  me 
at  that  hour. 

"Who  is  he?"  I  said. 

"Don't  know,  sir.  Gives  his  name  as  Gorman.  But 
he's  not  our  Mr.  Gorman." 

"It  may  be  Tim,"  I  said.  "Does  he  look  as  if  he 
had  an  artistic  soul?" 

"Couldn't  say,  sir.  Might  have,  sir.  Artists  is 
very  various.  Doesn't  seem  to  me,  sir,  as  if  his  man 
looked  after  his  clothes  proper." 

"Must  be  Tim,"  I  said.    "Show  him  in." 

"In  here,  sir?" 


228  GOSSAMER 

"Yes.  And  have  an  extra  kidney  cooked  for  break- 
fast." 

Tim  came  in  very  shyly  and  sat  down  on  a  chair 
near  the  door.  He  certainly  did  not  look  as  if  his 
clothes  had  been  properly  cared  for.  He  was  wearing 
the  blue  suit  which  I  suspected  was  the  best  he  owned. 
It  was  even  more  crumpled  and  worse  creased  than 
when  I  saw  it  down  in  Hertfordshire. 

"I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  coming  here,"  he  said. 
"I  didn't  like  to  go  to  Mr.  Ascher,  and  I  was  afraid 
to  go  to  Michael.  He'd  have  been  angry  with  me." 

"Has  anything  gone  wrong  with  your  apparatus? 
Smashed  a  mirror?" 

Tim  brightened  up  at  the  mention  of  his  apparatus. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said.  "That's  all  right.  In  fact  I've 
been  able  to  improve  it  greatly.  You  remember  the 
trouble  I  had  with  the  refraction  from  the  second 

prism.  The  adjustment  of  the  angles The  way 

the  light  fell " 

I  could  not,  especially  before  breakfast,  argue  about 
prisms. 

"If  your  machinery's  all  right,"  I  said,  "what's  the 
matter  with  you?" 

"It's  this  party  of  Michael's,"  he  said.  "I  forgot 
all  about  it  till  yesterday  afternoon." 

"Well,  you  remembered  it  then.  If  you'd  forgotten 
it  till  this  afternoon  it  would  have  been  a  much  more 
serious  matter." 

"But,"  said  Tim,  "Michael  told  me  to  get  some  new 
clothes.  He  said  he'd  pay  for  them,  which  was  very 
kind  of  him.  But  when  I  got  up  to  London  the  shops 


GOSSAMER  229 

were  shut.  I  hurried  as  much  as  I  could,  but  there 
were  one  or  two  things  I  had  to  do  before  I  started. 
And  now  I'm  afraid  Michael  will  be  angry.  He  said 
most  particularly  that  I  must  be  well  dressed  because 
there  are  ladies  coming." 

"Stand  up,"  I  said,  "and  let  me  have  a  look  at 
you." 

Poor  Tim  stood  up,  looking  as  if  he  expected  me 
to  box  his  ears.  There  was  no  disguising  the  fact 
that  his  costume  fell  some  way  short  of  the  standard 
maintained  by  Cowes  yachtsmen. 

Tim  surveyed  himself  with  a  rueful  air.  He  was 
certainly  aware  of  the  condition  of  his  clothes. 

"If  I  could  even  have  got  a  ready  made  suit,"  he 
said,  "it  might  have  fitted.  But  I  couldn't  do  that. 
I  didn't  get  to  London  till  nearly  ten  o'clock.  There 
was  a  train  at  four.  I  wish  now  that  I'd  caught  it. 
It  was  only  a  few  minutes  after  three  when  I  remem- 
bered about  the  party  and  I  might  have  caught  that 
train.  But  I  didn't  want  to  leave  just  then.  There 
were  some  things  that  I  had  to  do.  Perhaps  now 
I'd  better  not  go  to  the  party.  Michael  will  be  angry 
if  I  don't;  but  I  expect  he'll  be  angrier  if  I  go  in 
these  clothes.  I  think  I'd  better  not  go  at  all." 

He  looked  at  me  wistfully.  He  was  hoping,  I  am 
sure,  that  I  might  decide  that  he  was  too  disreputable 
to  appear. 

"No,"  I  said,  "you  can't  get  out  of  it  that  way. 
You'll  have  to  come." 

"But  can  I?  You  know  better  than  I  do.  I  did 
brush  my  trousers  a  lot  this  morning — really.  I 


230  GOSSAMER 

brushed  them  for  quite  half  an  hour;  but  there  are 
some  marks " 

He  held  out  his  right  leg  and  looked  at  it  hope- 
lessly. 

"Stains,  I  suppose,"  he  said. 

"You'd  be  better,"  I  said,  "if  you  had  a  tie." 

Tim  put  his  hand  up  to  his  neck  and  felt  about 
helplessly. 

"I  must  have  forgotten  to  put  it  on,"  he  said.  "I 
have  one,  I  know.  But  it's  very  hard  to  remember 
ties.  They  are  such  small  things." 

"Take  one  of  mine,"  I  said,  "and  put  it  on  before 
you  forget  again." 

"Anything  else?"  said  Tim. 

"I  don't  think,"  I  said,  "that  there's  anything  else 
we  can  do.  My  clothes  wouldn't  fit  you.  I  might 
lend  you  a  pair  of  boots  but  I  doubt  if  you'd  get  them 
on.  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  We'll  get  yours 
cleaned.  Take  them  off." 

I  do  not  think  that  my  servant  liked  cleaning  Tim's 
boots.  But  he  did  it  and  I  daresay  it  was  good  for 
him. 

I  was  a  little  anxious  about  the  meeting  between 
Mrs.  Ascher  and  Tim.  When  they  parted  in  New 
York  she  was  deeply  vexed  with  him  and  I  could  not 
think  it  likely  that  a  woman  as  devout  as  she  is  would 
readily  forgive  a  man  who  had  been  guilty  of  blas- 
phemy. On  the  other  hand  she  had  very  graciously 
accepted  my  invitation  to  be  present  when  the  new 
invention  was  shown  off.  She  might,  of  course,  only 
wish  to  hear  the  other  Gorman  making  a  speech;  but 


GOSSAMER  231 

she  might  have  forgotten  Tim's  offence,  or  changed 
her  mind  about  its  heinousness.  In  any  case  Tim's 
clothes  would  make  no  difference  to  her.  Miss  Gibson 
might  think  less  of  him  for  being  shabby.  But  Mrs. 
Ascher  was  quite  likely  to  prefer  him  in  rags.  Many 
people  regard  unkemptness  as  a  sign  of  genius ;  which 
is,  I  daresay,  the  reason  why  poets  seldom  wash 
their  necks. 

I  need  not  have  troubled  myself  about  the  matter. 
Mrs.  Ascher  took  no  notice  of  Tim.  She  was  sitting 
in  the  saloon  carriage  when  we  reached  the  station 
and  was  surrounded  with  newspapers.  She  greeted 
me  with  effusion. 

"Isn't  it  glorious?"  she  said.  "Splendid.  We  have 
shown  them  that  we  too  can  do  daring  things,  even  the 
sort  of  things  in  which  they  take  a  special  pride. 
The  practical  things  which  the  world  boasts  of,  which 
we  artists  are  not  supposed  to  be  able  to  do  at  all." 

"I  haven't  seen  a  paper  this  morning,"  I  said.  "Has 
any  one  assassinated  the  Prime  Minister?" 

"Look!"  she  said. 

•  She  held  out  one  of  the  newspapers  towards  me.  I 
did  not  have  to  take  it  in  my  hand  to  see  the  news.  I 
could  have  read  the  headlines  from  the  far  side  of 
the  platform. 

"Steam  yacht  lands  guns  on  Galway  Coast.  Na- 
tional Volunteers  muster  to  receive  Arms.  Coast- 
guards Paralysed.  Police  Helpless.  Crushing  Reply 
to  Ulster  Lawlessness." 

That,  of  course,  was  a  Liberal  paper.  There  was  a 
Unionist  paper  open  on  the  floor  at  my  feet.  Its  state- 


232  GOSSAMER 

ment  of  the  facts  was  almost  identical;  but  its  inter- 
pretation was  different.  Instead  of  regarding  the 
incident  as  a  lesson  in  loyalty  to  Malcolmson  it  said : 

"Act  of  Rebellion  in  Connaught.  Civil  War  Breaks 
Out." 

"In  the  broad  light  of  day,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher,  "at 
noon.  Without  an  attempt  at  concealment.  Now, 
now  at  last,  Ireland  has  asserted  herself,  has  shown 
that  the  idealism  of  the  artist  is  a  match  for  the  sordid 
materialism  of  the  worshippers  of  efficiency." 

I  looked  round  for  Gorman.  I  wanted  to  see  how 
he  was  taking  the  news.  He  was  on  the  platform, 
talking  seriously,  I  fear  sternly,  to  Tim;  no  doubt 
about  his  clothes.  Ascher  was  standing  near  them; 
but  was  not,  I  think,  listening  to  Gorman.  He  had 
the  air  of  patient  politeness  which  is  common  with 
him  on  pleasure  parties  and  excursions  of  all  kinds. 

"I  can't  help  hoping,"  I  said,  "that  they  haven't 
got  any  ammunition.  It  sounds  an  unkind  thing  to 
say,  but — I'm  not  much  of  a  patriot,  I  know,  but  I've 
just  enough  love  of  country  in  me  to  dislike  the  idea 
of  Irishmen  shooting  each  other." 

"Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher,  "there  would  be  no  risk 
of  that  if — if  men  like  you — the  natural  leaders — 
would  place  yourselves  at  the  head  of  the  people. 
Think— think " 

I  did  think.  The  more  I  thought  the  less  inclined 
I  felt  to  agree  with  Mrs.  Ascher.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  if  I  took  to  paralysing  coastguards  and  reducing 
policemen  to  helplessness  there  would  be  considerably 
more  risk  of  snooting  than  if  I  stayed  quietly  in 


GOSSAMER  233 

London.  The  proper  leaders  of  the  people — proper 
though  perhaps  not  natural — are  the  politicians.  The 
only  risk  of  real  trouble  in  Ireland  rose  from  the  fact 
that  men  like  Malcolmson — natural  leaders — had  done 
what  Mrs.  Ascher  wanted  me  to  do,  put  themselves 
at  the  head  of  the  people.  If  they  had  been  content 
to  leave  the  question  of  Home  Rule  to  the  politicians 
it  could  have  been  settled  quietly.  Gorman,  for  in- 
stance, has  an  instinct  for  stopping  in  time.  Malcolm- 
son  and  men  like  him  confuse  games  with  real  affairs. 
I  might  turn  out  to  be  just  as  bad  as  Malcolmson 
if  I  took  to  placing  myself  at  the  head  of  the  people. 
Besides  I  do  not  like  the  people. 

Gorman  came  in  with  Miss  Gibson  and  I  was  intro- 
duced to  her.  She  seemed  a  nice,  quiet  little  girl,  and 
smiled  rather  shyly  as  we  shook  hands.  She  sat  down 
beside  Mrs.  Ascher  and  refused  the  cigarette  which 
was  offered  her.  She  did  not  in  the  least  correspond 
to  my  idea  of  what  a  leading  lady  in  a  popular  play 
should  be.  However  I  had  not  much  opportunity  just 
then  of  forming  an  opinion  of  her.  Gorman,  having 
settled  the  two  ladies,  took  Ascher  and  me  to  the  far 
end  of  the  carriage.  The  train  started. 

"That's  a  damned  silly  performance,"  said  Gorman, 
"landing  those  guns  in  Galway." 

"I  should  have  thought,"  I  said,  "that  you'd  have 
been  pleased.  You  were  talking  to  me  the  other  day 
about  the  necessity  for  pulling  off  some  coup  of  a 
striking  and  theatrical  kind  by  way  of  diverting  the 
sympathy  of  the  English  people  from  Ulster." 

"But   this,"   said  Gorman,   "is   a  totally   different 


234  GOSSAMER 

thing.  I  happen  to  know  what  I'm  talking  about. 
The  fellows  who've  got  these  guns  are  wild,  irrespon- 
sible, unpractical  fools.  They've  been  giving  us  trou- 
ble for  years,  far  more  trouble  than  all  the  Unionist 
party  put  together.  They  don't  understand  politics  in 

the  least.  They've  no  sense.  They're  like — like " 

he  looked  round  for  some  comparison,  "in  some  ways 
they're  rather  like  Tim." 

"Dreamers,"  I  said. 

"Exactly,"  said  Gorman.  "They  ought  to  be  writ- 
ing poetry." 

"Lofty  souls,"  I  said,  "idealists.  Just  exactly  what 
Mrs.  Ascher  thinks  you  are." 

"Take  the  case  of  Tim,"  said  Gorman.  "You'll 
hardly  believe  it  but — just  look  at  his  clothes,  will 
you?" 

Tim  was  standing  by  himself  in  the  middle  of  the 
carriage.  He  looked  forlorn.  He  was  too  shy,  I 
imagine,  to  sit  down  beside  Mrs.  Ascher  or  Miss 
Gibson,  and  too  much  afraid  of  his  brother  to  join 
our  group.  We  had  every  opportunity  of  studying 
his  clothes. 

"And  I  told  him  to  buy  a  new  suit,"  said  Gorman. 

"That,"  I  said,  "is  just  the  kind  of  man  that  Mrs. 
Ascher  believes  in.  She  was  saying  to  me  a  few 
minutes  ago  that  there  is  nothing  more  sordid  and 
detestable  than  the  worship  of  efficiency  in  practical 
matters." 

The  mention  of  Mrs.  Ascher's  name  recalled  Gor- 
man to  a  sense  of  his  duties  as  a  host.  The  two  ladies 
were  not  getting  on  very  well  together.  I  imagine 


GOSSAMER  235 

that  Mrs.  Ascher  was  too  much  excited  by  her  Irish 
news  to  care  for  talking  about  the  Naval  Review  we 
were  going  to  see,  and  that  was  a  topic  which  would 
inevitably  suggest  itself  to  Miss  Gibson.  Miss  Gibson, 
though  anxious  to  be  polite,  was  not  likely  to  know 
or  care  anything  about  Ireland.  Gorman  left  us  and 
joined  them. 

"Well,"  I  said  to  Ascher,  "what  do  you  think  of  this 
performance  in  Galway?" 

"Have  you  read  the  newspapers?"  he  said. 

"The  headlines,"  I  replied.  "I  couldn't  very  well 
help  reading  them." 

Ascher  stepped  across  the  carriage  and  picked  up 
one  of  the  papers  from  the  floor.  It  was  the  one 
which  declared  that  civil  war  had  broken  out  in 
Ireland. 

"I  wish,"  he  said,  "that  I  knew  exactly  the  measure 
of  my  nephew's  intelligence." 

"Captain  von  Richter?"  I  said. 

"Yes.  He  may — almost  anything  is  possible  with 
a  man  like  him.  He  may  believe  that." 

Ascher  pointed  to  the  words,  "Civil  War." 

"I  don't  think  you  need  worry  about  that,"  I  said. 
"Whatever  Malcolmson  and  his  lot  may  do  those  fel- 
lows in  Galway  won't  fight.  Gorman  and  the  priests 
will  stop  them.  You  can  always  count  on  the  poli- 
ticians and  the  priests.  They'll  prevent  anything 
really  serious.  The  Connaught  Celt  will  never  start 
a  civil  war ;  at  least  not  unless  he  gives  up  his  religion 
and  takes  to  hanging  Members  of  Parliament.  He's  a 
splendid  fighting  man — none  better — but  he  won't  run 


236  GOSSAMER 

the  risk  of  losing  his  soul  for  the  sake  of  a  battle. 
He  must  be  told  he  ought  to  fight  by  some  one  whose 
authority  he  recognises.  That's  where  we're  safe. 
All  the  authorities  are  against  violence." 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  are  right,"  said  Ascher.  "No 
civil  war  will  be  started  in  the  way  these  papers  sug- 
gest. I  am  not  anxious  about  that.  It  is  impos- 
sible. But  I  am  anxious  lest  it  should  be  believed 
possible  by  men  who  do  not  understand.  My  nephew, 
for  instance.  He  will  not  know  what  you  know.  He 
may  believe — and  those  over  him  in  Berlin — they 
will  not  understand.  They  may  think  that  the  men  in 
Ireland  who  have  got  the  guns  will  use  them.  They 
may  even  have  had  something  to  do  with  supplying 
the  guns.  That  is  where  the  danger  lies.  A  miscal- 
culation— not  in  Ireland — but  elsewhere." 

I  did  not  like  to  ask  whether  Mrs.  Ascher's  enthu- 
siasm for  the  cause  of  Ireland  had  led  her  to  finance 
the  Galway  gun-running.  Nor  did  I  care  to  question 
Ascher  about  his  suggestion  that  Von  Richter  had 
something  to  do  with  buying  and  shipping  that  cargo 
or  the  other  which  was  landed  at  Larne.  Ascher 
seemed  disinclined  to  discuss  the  matter  further.  We 
joined  Gorman  and  the  two  ladies  at  the  far  end  of  the 
carriage,  picking  up  Tim  on  our  way. 

Gorman  was  sitting  beside  Miss  Gibson.  He  was 
leaning  forward,  pointing  with  outstretched  hand  to 
the  country  through  which  the  train  was  passing. 

"This  is  the  playground  of  England,"  he  said. 
"Here  the  rich  and  idle  build  themselves  beautiful 
houses,  plant  delightful  gardens,  live  surrounded  by  a 


GOSSAMER  237 

parasitic  class,  servants,  ministers  to  luxury;  try  to 
shut  out,  succeed  to  a  great  extent  in  shutting  out 
all  sense  and  memory  of  real  things,  of  that  England 
where  the  world's  work  is  done,  the  England  which 
lies  in  the  smoky  hinterland."  He  waved  his  hand 
with  a  comprehensive  gesture  towards  the  north. 
"Far  from  all  the  prettinesses  of  glorified  villadom." 

"I  do  think,"  said  Miss  Gibson,  "that  Surrey  and 
Hampshire  are  sweetly  pretty." 

Miss  Gibson  may  be  regarded,  I  suppose,  as  one 
of  England's  toys.  It  was  only  natural  that  she  should 
appreciate  the  playground.  It  was,  so  she  thought,  a 
district  very  well  suited  to  the  enjoyment  of  life. 
She  told  us  how  she  had  driven,  in  the  motor  of  a 
wealthy  member  of  Parliament,  through  the  New 
Forest.  From  time  to  time  she  had  spent  week-ends 
at  various  well-appointed  villas  in  different  parts  of 
the  South  of  England,  and,  as  a  nice-minded  young 
woman  should,  had  enjoyed  these  holidays  of  hers. 
She  frankly  preferred  the  playground  to  that  other, 
more  "real"  England  which  Gorman  contrasted  with 
it,  the  England  of  the  midlands,  where  the  toilers 
dwelt,  in  an  atmosphere  thick  with  smuts. 

Mrs.  Ascher,  of  course,  took  quite  a  different  view. 
It  filled  her  with  sadness  to  think  that  a  small  num- 
ber of  people  should  play  amid  beautiful  surroundings 
while  a  great  number — she  dwelt  particularly  on  the 
case  of  women  who  made  chains — should  live  hard 
lives  in  hideous  places.  Mrs.  Ascher  is  more  emo- 
tional than  intellectual.  The  necessity  for  consistency 
in  a  philosophy  of  life  troubles  her  very  little.  As  a 


238  GOSSAMER 

devout  worshipper  of  art  she  ought  to  have  realised 
that  her  goddess  can  only  be  fitly  honoured  by  people 
wealthy  enough  to  buy  leisure,  that  the  toiling  millions 
want  bread  much  more  than  they  want  beauty.  I 
have  no  quarrel  with  the  description  of  the  life  of 
Birmingham  as  more  "real" — both  Gorman  and  Mrs. 
Ascher  kept  using  the  word — than  the  life  of  the  Isle 
of  Wight.  Nor  should  I  want  to  argue  with  any  one 
who  said  that  beauty  and  art  are  the  only  true  realities, 
and  that  the  struggle  of  the  manufacturing  classes  for 
wealth  is  a  striving  after  wind.  But  I  felt  slightly 
irritated  with  Mrs.  Ascher  for  not  seeing  that  she 
cannot  have  it  both  ways. 

Gorman,  of  course,  was  simply  trying  to  be  agree- 
able. I  pointed  out — when  I  succeeded  in  seizing  a 
place  in  the  conversation — that  if  Gorman's  theory 
were  applied  to  Ireland  Belfast  would  come  out  as  a 
reality  while  Cork,  Limerick,  and  other  places  like 
them  would  be  as  despicable  as  Dorsetshire. 

"Wicklow,"  I  said,  "is  the  playground  of  Ireland, 
and  it  returns  nothing  but  Nationalist  members  to 
Parliament.  You  ought  not  to  go  back  on  your  own 
side,  Gorman." 

Mrs.  Ascher  shuddered  at  the  mention  of  Belfast 
and  would  not  admit  that  it  could  be  as  "real"  as 
Manchester  or  Leeds. 

Miss  Gibson  broke  in  with  a  reminiscence  of  her 
own.  She  told  us  that  she  had  been  in  Belfast  once 
with  a  touring  company,  and  thought  it  was  duller 
on  Sunday  than  any  other  city  in  the  British  Isles. 

Gorman,  after  winking  at  me,  appealed  to  Ascher 


GOSSAMER  239 

on  the  subject  of  Belfast's  prosperity.  In  his  opinion 
the  apparent  wealth  of  that  city  is  built  up  on  an 
insecure  foundation  of  credit.  There  is  no  solidity 
about  it.  The  farmers  of  the  south  and  west  of 
Ireland,  on  the  other  hand,  have  real  wealth,  actual 
savings,  stored  up  in  the  Post  Office  Banks,  or  placed 
on  deposit,  in  other  banks,  or  hoarded  in  stockings. 

Ascher  was  most  unwilling  to  join  in  the  discus- 
sion. He  noticed,  as  I  did,  that  Miss  Gibson's  atten- 
tion was  wandering.  In  the  end,  goaded  by  Gorman, 
he  said  that  some  one  ought  to  teach  the  Irish  farmers 
to  invest  their  savings  in  high  class  international 
stocks  and  bonds.  He  added  that  ii  notes  kept  in 
drawers  and  desks  are  not  wealth  but  merely  frozen 
potentialities  of  credit. 

After  that,  conversation,  as  might  be  expected,  be- 
came impossible  for  some  time,  although  Ascher 
apologised  humbly. 

Gorman  restored  us  to  cheerfulness  by  opening  a 
parcel  and  handing  round  two  enormous  boxes  of 
chocolates.  One  box  was  settled  on  the  seat  between 
Miss  Gibson  and  Tim.  They  ate  with  healthy  appe- 
tites and  obvious  delight.  When  we  reached  South- 
ampton that  box  was  nearly  empty  and  neither  of 
them  seemed  any  the  worse.  The  other  box  lay  on 
Mrs.  Ascher's  knee.  She  and  I  and  Gorman  did  our 
best,  but  we  did  not  get  through  the  top  layer.  Ascher 
only  took  one  small  chocolate  and,  when  he  thought 
no  one  was  looking,  dropped  it  out  of  the  win- 
dow. 

The  motor  yacht  which  Gorman  had  hired  for  us 


240  GOSSAMER 

turned  out  to  be  a  swift  and  well-found  ship  with  a 
small  cabin  and  possibilities  of  comfort  in  a  large 
cockpit  aft.  We  sped  down  Southampton  Water,  one 
of  a  whole  fleet  of  pleasure  vessels  large  and  small. 
A  racing  cutter  stooped  under  the  pressure  of  a  fresh 
westerly  breeze,  to  leeward  of  us.  We  slipped  close 
past  a  little  brown  sailed  yawl,  steered  by  a  man  in 
white  flannels.  Two  laughing  girls  in  bright  red  caps 
sat  on  the  coachroof  cabin  top.  An  arrogant  white 
steam  yacht,  flying  the  ensign  of  the  Royal  Yacht 
Squadron,  sliced  her  silent  way  through  the  water  be- 
hind us.  Shabby  boats  with  stained,  discoloured  sails 
and  chipped  paint  bore  large  parties  seaward.  The 
stiff  front  of  Netley  Hospital  shone  white  in  the  sun. 
The  conical  buoy  at  the  entrance  of  Hamley  river 
bent  its  head  shorewards  as  the  strong  tide  swept  past 
it.  From  the  low  point  beneath  Calshott  Castle  a 
flying  machine  rose  suddenly,  circled  round  in  a  wide 
sweep  and  then  sped  swiftly  eastwards  towards  Spit- 
head.  In  the  roads  off  Cowes  we  could  discern 
many  yachts  at  anchor.  One  of  the  Hamburg- 
American  lines  crept  cautiously  up  the  Solent.  A  be- 
lated cruiser,  four-funneled,  black  and  grim,  on  her 
way  to  join  the  Fleet,  followed  the  huge  German 
steamer.  The  waters  of  the  Solent  tumbled  in  irreg- 
ular white-topped  waves,  tide  and  wind  opposed  to 
each  other,  struggling  for  mastery. 

Gorman  hauled  luncheon  baskets  from  the  cabin. 
He  set  Tim  and  me  to  open  them.  The  look  of  a  ham 
which  Tim  thoughtlessly  asked  her  to  hold  while  he 
unpacked  the  dish  belonging  to  it,  finished  Mrs. 


GOSSAMER  241 

Ascher.  Our  boat  was  rolling  quite  appreciably.  She 
retired  to  the  cabin.  Even  the  glass  of  champagne 
with  which  Gorman  hurriedly  provided  her  failed  to 
enable  her  to  eat.  Miss  Gibson  fortunately  was  un- 
affected. She  ate  everything  that  was  offered  to  her 
and  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon  finished  Mrs. 
Ascher's  box  of  chocolates. 

Before  we  stopped  eating  we  caught  our  first  sight 
of  the  Fleet.  The  ships  lay  in  three  long,  straight 
lines  off  Spithead;  battleships,  cruisers,  lean  destroy- 
ers, submarines.  A  hydroplane  raced  past  us,  flinging 
showers  of  spray  and  foam  high  on  each  side  of  her. 
Two  naval  aeroplanes,  their  canoe-shaped  floats  plainly 
visible,  hovered  and  circled  overhead.  Pleasure  boats 
were  everywhere,  moving  in  and  out  among  the  mo- 
tionless ironclads.  A  handsome  barque-rigged  yacht, 
some  very  rich  man's  summer  home,  came  slowly 
towards  us,  her  sails  furled,  using  auxiliary  steam 
power. 

We  swiftly  approached  the  Fleet.  Already  the  vast 
bulk  of  the  battleships  oppressed  our  spirits.  We 
looked  up  from  the  cockpit  of  our  dancing  pleasure 
boat  and  saw  the  huge  misshapen  iron  monsters  tower- 
ing over  us,  minatory,  terrible.  We  swept  in  and  out, 
across  the  sharp  bows,  under  the  gloomy  sterns  of 
the  ships  of  the  first  line.  Ascher  gazed  at  them. 
His  eyes  were  full  of  sorrow,  sorrow  and  a  patient 
resignation. 

"Your  protection,"  I  said.  "Because  those  ships  are 
there,  because  they  are  black  and  strong,  stronger 
than  any  other  ships,  because  men  everywhere  are 


242  GOSSAMER 

afraid  of  them,  because  this  navy  of  England's  is 
great,  your  net  of  commerce  and  credit  can  trawl 
across  the  world  and  gather  wealth." 

"Protection,"  said  Ascher.  "Protection  and  menace. 
This  Navy  is  only  one  of  the  world's  guarantees  of 
peace,  of  peace  guaranteed  by  fear.  It  is  there  as 
you  say,  and  the  German  Army  is  there;  that  men 
may  fear  them  and  peace  be  thus  made  sure.  But  can 
peace  be  secured  through  fear  ?  Will  not  these  navies 
and  armies  some  day  fulfil  the  end  of  their  being, 
rend  all  our  nets  as  they  rush  across  the  seas  and 
desolate  the  lands?  They  are  more  menace  than 
protection." 

Gorman  was  standing  with  his  back  to  us.  His 
elbows  were  resting  on  the  slide  of  the  roof  above 
the  steps  which  led  to  the  cabin.  His  chin  was  on 
his  hands  and  he  was  staring  at  the  ships.  Suddenly 
he  turned. 

"The  world's  great  delusion,"  he  said.  "Hypnotised 
by  the  governing  classes  the  workers  are  everywhere 
bearing  intolerable  burdens  in  order  to  provide  states- 
men and  kings  with  these  dangerous  toys.  Men  toil, 
and  the  fruits  of  their  toil  are  taken  from  them  to  be 
squandered  on  vast  engines  whose  sole  use  is  to 
destroy  utterly  in  one  awful  moment  what  we  have 
spent  the  painful  effort  of  ages  in  building  up." 

He  swept  his  hand  out  towards  the  great  ship  under 
whose  shadow  we  were  passing. 

"Was  there  ever  plainer  proof,"  he  said,  "that  men 
are  mad?" 

Miss  Gibson  sat  beside  me.     While  Ascher  spoke 


GOSSAMER  243 

and  while  Gorman  spoke,  she  held  my  glasses  in  her 
hand  and  watched  the  ships  through  them.  She 
neither  heard  nor  heeded  the  things  they  said.  At 
last  she  laid  the  glasses  on  my  knee  and  began  to 
recite  Kipling's  "Recessional."  She  spoke  low  at  first. 
Gradually  her  voice  grew  stronger,  and  a  note  of  pas- 
sion, tense  and  restrained,  came  into  it.  She  is  more 
than  a  charming  woman.  She  has  a  great  actress' 
capacity  for  emotion. 

We  moved  through  waters  consecrate,  and  she  ex- 
pressed for  us  the  spirit  which  hovered  over  them. 
Here  English  guns  raked  the  ships  of  Spain.  Here, 
staggering  homewards,  shot-riddled,  came  the  frigates 
and  privateers  of  later  centuries,  their  shattered  prizes 
under  their  lee.  Through  these  waters  men  have 
sailed  away  to  fight  and  conquer  and  rule  in  India  and 
in  many  distant  lands.  Back  through  these  waters, 
some  of  them  have  come  again,  generation  after  gen- 
eration of  them,  their  duty  done,  their  adventuring 
over,  asking  no  more  than  to  lay  their  bones  at  last 
in  quiet  churchyards,  under  the  shadow  of  the  cross, 
near  the  grey  walls  of  some  English  church. 

Miss  Gibson's  voice,  resonant,  passionate,  devout, 
lingered  on  the  last  syllables  of  the  poem. 

"The  imperial  idea,"  I  said,  "after  all,  Gorman,  it 
has  its  greatness." 

Then  Tim  spoke,  shyly,  eagerly. 

"I  wonder,"  he  said,  "if  they  would  let  us  go  on 

board  one  of  the  submarines.  I  should  like  to  see 

Oh,  there  are  a  lot  of  things  I  should  like  to  see  in 
any  of  those  ships.  They  must  be  nearly  perfect,  I 


244  GOSSAMER 

mean  mechanically.  The  steering  gear,  for  in- 
stance  " 

His  voice  trailed  off  into  silence. 

"What  a  pity,"  said  Miss  Gibson,  "that  the  King 
can't  be  here.  I  suppose  now  there'll  be  no  royal 
salutes  fired  and  we  shan't  see  his  yacht." 

"All  Mr.  Gorman's  fault,"  I  said.  "If  he  had  not 
nagged  on  in  the  way  he  has  about  Home  Rule,  the 
King  would  be  here  with  the  rest  of  us.  As  it  is  he 
has  to  stay  in  London  while  politicians  abuse  each 
other  in  Buckingham  Palace." 

"That  conference,"  said  Gorman,  "is  an  unconstitu- 
tional manoeuvre  of  the  Tory  party." 

"What's  it  all  about?"  said  Miss  Gibson. 

"The  dispute  at  present,"  I  said,  "centres  round  two 
parishes  in  County  Tyrone  and  because  of  them  a 
public  holiday  is  being  spoiled.  All  Mr.  Gorman's 
fault." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

IT  must  have  been  the  novelty  of  the  thing  which 
brought  people  flocking  to  the  hall  I  hired  for  the 
exhibition  of  Tim  Gorman's  new  cinematograph.  I 
was  aware,  in  a  vague  way,  that  my  invitations  had 
been  very  generally  accepted;  but  I  made  no  list  of 
my  expected  guests,  and  I  did  not  for  a  moment  sup- 
pose that  half  the  people  who  said  they  were  coming 
would  actually  arrive.  I  have  some  experience  of 
social  life  and  I  have  always  found  that  it  is  far 
easier  to  accept  invitations  than  to  invent  plausible 
excuses  for  refusing  them.  I  do  not  consider  that  I 
am  in  any  way  bound  by  my  acceptance  in  most  cases. 
Dinners  are  exceptional.  It  is  not  fair  to  say  that 
you  will  dine  at  a  house  unless  you  really  mean  to 
do  it.  But  the  givers  of  miscellaneous  entertainments, 
of  dances,  receptions,  private  concerts  and  such  things 
are  best  dealt  with  by  accepting  their  invitations  and 
then  consulting  one's  own  convenience.  That  is  what 
I  thought  people  were  doing  to  me. 

I  had  no  reason  to  expect  any  other  treatment.  I 
was  not  offering  food  or  wine  in  large  quantities  or 
of  fine  kind.  I  was  not  a  prominent  figure  in  London 
society.  My  party  was  of  no  importance  from  a 
political  or  a  financial  point  of  view  and  I  could 
scarcely  expect  the  scientific  world  to  take  a  cinemato- 

245 


246  GOSSAMER 

graph  seriously.  Yet  I  found  myself  the  host  of  a 
number  of  very  distinguished  guests,  many  of  whom  I 
did  not  even  know  by  sight. 

Three  Cabinet  Ministers  arrived,  looking,  as  men 
immersed  in  great  affairs  ought  to  look,  slightly  ab- 
sent-minded and  rather  surprised  to  find  themselves 
where  they  were.  They  were  Cabinet  Ministers  of  a 
minor  kind,  not  men  in  the  first  flight.  I  owed  their 
presence  to  Gorman's  exertions  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. He  told  me  that  he  intended  to  interest  the 
Government  in  Tim's  invention  on  the  ground  that  it 
promised  an  opportunity  of  popularising  and  improv- 
ing national  education.  I  had  a  seat  kept  for  Ascher 
beside  the  Cabinet  Ministers.  I  did  not  suppose  that 
he  would  particularly  want  to  talk  to  them,  but  I  was 
sure  that  they  would  like  to  spend  the  evening  in  the 
company  of  one  of  our  greatest  financiers. 

No  less  than  five  members  of  the  Royal  Society 
came,  bringing  their  wives  and  a  numerous  flock  of 
daughters.  They  were  men  of  high  scientific  attain- 
ments. One  of  them  was  engaged  in  some  experi- 
ments with  pigs,  experiments  which  were  supposed  to 
lead  to  important  discoveries  in  the  science  of  eugen- 
ics. I  cannot  even  imagine  why  he  came  to  see  a 
cinematograph.  Another  of  them  had  written  a  book 
to  expound  a  new  theory  of  crystallisation.  I  have 
never  studied  crystallisation,  but  I  believe  it  is  a 
process  by  which  particles  of  solid  matter,  temporarily 
separated  by  some  liquid  medium,  draw  together  and 
coalesce.  My  scientists  and  their  families  afforded  a 
good  example  of  the  process.  They  arrived  at  dif- 


GOSSAMER  247 

ferent  times,  went  at  first  to  different  parts  of  the  hall, 
got  mixed  up  with  all  sorts  of  other  people,  but  long 
before  the  entertainment  began  they  had  drawn 
together  and  formed  a  solid  block  among  my 
guests. 

Two  Royal  Academicians,  one  of  them  a  well- 
known  portrait  painter,  arrived  a  little  late.  They 
were  men  whom  I  knew  pretty  well  and  liked.  They 
have  urbane  and  pleasant  manners,  and  are  refresh- 
ingly free  from  affectations  and  fads.  In  my  opinion 
they  both  paint  very  good  pictures.  I  introduced  them 
to  Mrs.  Ascher;  but  this,  as  I  should  have  known  if 
I  had  stopped  to  think,  was  a  mistake.  Mrs.  Ascher 
regards  the  Royal  Academy  as  the  home  of  an  artistic 
anti-Christ  and  Academicians  as  the  deadliest  foes  of 
art.  Not  even  the  suave  courtesy  of  my  two  friends 
saved  them  from  the  unpleasant  experience  of  hear- 
ing the  truth  about  themselves.  Mrs.  Ascher  was  not, 
of  course,  bluntly  rude  to  them,  and  did  not  speak 
with  offensive  directness.  She  poked  the  truth  at 
them  edgeways,  the  truth  that  is,  as  she  saw  it. 

The  church  did  not  support  me  very  well.  I  dis- 
tinctly remember  inviting  six  bishops.  Only  one 
came  and  he  was  Irish.  However,  he  wore  silk  stock- 
ings and  a  violet  coat  of  aggressively  ecclesiastical 
cut,  so  he  looked  quite  as  well  as  if  he  had  had  a  seat 
in  the  House  of  Lords.  I  introduced  him  to  the 
eugenic  pig  breeder,  but  they  did  not  seem  to  hit  it 
off  together.  After  a  few  remarks,  probably  about 
the  weather,  they  separated.  The  eugenist  is  rather 
a  shaggy  man  to  look  at.  That  may  have  prejudiced 


248  GOSSAMER 

the  bishop  against  him.  I  imagine  that  most  bishops 
feel  shagginess  to  be  embarrassing. 

Lady  Kingscourt  brought  a  large  party,  chiefly 
women  in  very  splendid  attire.  There  were,  I  think, 
eight  of  them  altogether,  and  they  had  only  one  man 
with  them,  a  subaltern  in  a  Guards  regiment.  He 
slipped  away  almost  at  once,  telling  me  as  he  passed 
out,  that  he  wanted  to  telephone  to  a  friend  and  that 
he  would  be  back  in  a  few  minutes.  I  do  not  think 
he  came  back  at  all.  He  probably  went  to  his  club. 
I  do  not  know  what  was  said  to  him  the  next  day  by 
the  ladies  he  deserted.  I  thanked  Lady  Kingscourt 
for  coming.  I  really  think  it  was  very  good  of  her 
to  come.  She  had  fair  warning  that  Gorman  was 
going  to  make  a  speech  and  she  knew  that  all  Gor- 
man's political  friends,  probably  Gorman  himself,  re- 
garded her  as  an  abandoned  woman  who  played  fast 
and  loose  with  the  morals  of  military  officers  and 
undermined  their  naturally  enthusiastic  loyalty  to 
Liberal  Governments.  By  way  of  acknowledgment 
of  my  quite  sincere  thanks  Lady  Kingscourt  squeeze^ 
my  hand. 

"I  always  make  a  point,"  she  said,  "of  encouraging 
any  movement  for  the  good  of  the  masses.  They  are 
such  deserving  dear  things,  aren't  they?" 

It  is  impossible  to  guess  at  what  Lady  Kingscourt 
thought  we  were  doing;  but  her  heart  was  warm  and 
kind.  If  ever  class  hatred  comes  to  play  an  important 
part  in  English  life  it  will  not  be  the  fault  of  the 
aristocracy.  I  doubt  whether  any  labourer  would  sac- 
rifice his  evening's  leisure  to  encourage  a  movement 


GOSSAMER  249 

for  the  good  of  Lady  Kingscourt.  Nor  would  the 
kindliest  Socialist  speak  of  women  of  the  upper  classes 
as  "deserving  dear  things."  The  nicest  term  used  by 
progressive  people  to  describe  these  ladies  is  "para- 
sites," and  they  often,  as  we  had  just  been  learning, 
call  them  worse  names  than  that. 

Lady  Kingscourt  and  her  party  represented  the 
highest  layer  of  fashionable  life.  I  had,  besides  her, 
a  large  number  of  women  of  slightly  dimmer  glory 
who  were  yet  quite  as  finely  dressed  as  Lady  Kings- 
court,  and  were,  I  am  sure,  equally  eager  for  the  good 
of  the  masses.  My  hall,  not  a  very  large  one,  was 
well  filled  before  nine  o'clock.  I  had  every  reason 
to  congratulate  myself  on  the  success  of  my  party, 
so  far.  It  remained  to  be  seen  whether  Gorman  would 
make  a  good  speech  and  whether  Tim's  ghosts  would 
exhibit  themselves  satisfactorily.  Between  the  speech 
and  the  ghosts  my  guests  would  have  an  opportunity 
of  drinking  tea  and  champagne  cup,  handed  round  by 
twelve  nice  looking  girls  wearing  black  and  white 
dresses,  hired  out  to  me  (both  the  girls  and  the 
dresses)  for  the  evening  by  the  firm  which  had  under- 
taken to  manage  the  refreshments. 

According  to  my  time  table  Gorman  ought  to  have 
begun  his  speech  at  nine  o'clock.  Instead  of  doing 
so  he  came  to  me  and  whispered  that  he  would  give 
late  comers  ten  minutes  law. 

"Nothing  more  unpleasant  for  an  audience,"  he 
said,  "than  having  their  toes  trodden  on  by  people  who 
come  in  late,  just  as  they  are  beginning  to  get  inter- 
ested in  what  is  going  on." 


250  GOSSAMER 

Nothing,  I  imagine,  is  more  unpleasant  for  a 
speaker  than  to  have  his  audience  looking  round  to 
see  who  the  newcomers  are,  just  as  he  is  beginning 
to  warm  to  his  subject.  I  gathered  from  his  anxiety 
about  the  audience,  that  Gorman  intended  to  make  a 
great  effort.  I  looked  forward  to  his  speech.  Gor- 
man, at  his  best,  is  really  a  very  fine  speaker. 

At  ten  minutes  past  nine  Gorman  mounted  the  plat- 
form, the  narrow  strip  of  platform  left  for  him  in 
front  of  the  pits  occupied  by  Tim's  apparatus.  The 
clatter  of  general  conversation  ceased,  and  the  Cabinet 
Ministers,  sitting  in  the  front  row  with  Ascher, 
clapped  their  hands.  The  rest  of  the  audience,  realis- 
ing that  applause  was  desirable,  also  clapped  their 
hands.  Gorman  bowed  and  smiled. 

Then  my  elbow  was  jerked  sharply.  I  looked  round 
and  saw  Jack  Heneage.  Jack  is  a  nice  boy,  the  son 
of  an  old  friend  of  mine.  I  have  known  him  ever 
since  he  first  went  to  school.  About  six  months  ago 
his  father  and  I  between  us  secured  a  very  nice 
appointment  for  the  boy,  a  sort  of  private  secretary- 
ship or  something  of  that  sort.  I  understood  at  the 
time  that  Jack's  business  was  to  run  messages  for  an 
important  man's  wife ;  and  that  the  appointment  would 
lead  on  to  something  good  in  the  political  world.  I 
was  surprised  to  see  him  standing  beside  me  for  I  had 
not  asked  him  to  my  party  and  he  was  not  wearing 
evening  clothes.  Jack  would  never  go  anywhere,  will- 
ingly, unless  he  were  properly  dressed. 

"Sit  down,"  I  said,  "and  don't  talk.  Mr.  Gorman 
is  just  going  to  make  a  speech," 


GOSSAMER  251 

"Is  Ascher  here?"  said  Jack. 

"He  is;  in  the  front  row." 

"Thank  God.  I've  been  chasing  him  all  over  Lon- 
don. Office,  club,  private  house,  tearing  round  in  a 
taxi  for  hours.  My  Chief  wants  him." 

"Your  chief  can't  get  him  now,"  I  said.  "Not  for 
half  an  hour,  perhaps  three  quarters.  Gorman  isn't 
likely  to  stop  under  three  quarters.  Till  he  does  you 
can't  get  Ascher." 

"I  must,"  said  Jack.  "I  simply  must.  It's — it's 
frightfully  important.' 

Gorman  began  his  speech.  I  did  not  hear  what  he 
said  because  I  was  trying  to  restrain  Jack  Heneage, 
but  the  audience  laughed,  so  I  suppose  he  began  with 
a  joke.  Jack  shook  off  my  hold  on  his  arm  and 
walked  right  up  to  the  front  of  the  hall.  I  saw 
Gorman  scowling  at  him  but  Jack  did  not  seem  to 
mind  that  in  the  least.  He  handed  a  note  to  Ascher. 
Gorman  said  something  about  the  very  distinguished 
audience  before  him,  a  remark  plainly  intended  to 
fill  in  the  time  while  Jack  and  Ascher  were  finishing 
their  business.  Ascher  read  the  note,  rose  from  his 
seat  and  came  towards  me.  Everybody  looked  at  him 
and  at  Jack  who  was  following  him.  Gorman  re- 
peated what  he  had  said  about  the  distinguished 
audience. 

"I  find,"  Ascher  said  to  me,  "that  I  am  obliged  to 
leave  you.  I  am  very  sorry." 

"I  have  a  taxi  outside,"  said  Jack,  pushing  Ascher 
towards  the  door. 

Ascher  lingered,  looking  at  me  wistfully. 


252  GOSSAMER 

"I  may  not  be  able  to  return,"  he  said.  "If  I 
cannot  will  you  bring  my  wife  home?  The  car  will 
be  here  and  can  drive  you  back  to  your  rooms  after- 
wards." 

I  was  a  little  surprised  at  the  request.  Mrs.  Ascher 
is,  I  should  think,  pretty  well  able  to  take  care  of 
herself. 

"I  think  we  ought  to  start,  sir,"  said  Jack  Heneage, 
taking  Ascher  by  the  arm. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Ascher  to  me,  "if  you  are  kind 
enough  to  see  my  wife  home  you  will  wait  in  my  house 
till  I  get  back.  I  may  have  something  to  say  to  you. 
It  is  possible  that  I  shall  reach  the  house  before  you 
do,  but  I  may  be  late.  I  do  not  know.  Will  you  wait 
for  me?" 

"Won't  you  come  on,  sir?"  said  Jack. 

I  noticed,  then,  that  Jack  was  excited  and  nervous. 
I  do  not  ever  remember  having  seen  him  excited  or 
nervous  before,  not  even  when  he  went  in  second 
wicket  down  in  the  Eton  and  Harrow  match  with 
seventy  runs  to  make  and  an  hour  left  to  play.  I  held 
Ascher's  coat  for  him  and  watched  them  get  into  the 
taxi  together. 

When  I  got  back  to  the  hall  Gorman  was  well  into 
his  speech  and  had  captured  the  attention  of  his  audi- 
ence. I  was  able  to  pick  up  the  thread  of  what  he 
was  saying  almost  at  once.  He  was  discoursing  on 
the  arts  of  peace,  contrasting  them  with  the  arts  of 
war.  In  past  ages,  so  Gorman  said,  the  human  in- 
tellect had  occupied  itself  mainly  in  devising  means 
for  destroying  life  and  had  been  indifferent  to  the 


GOSSAMER  253 

task  of  preserving  it.  Gunpowder  was  invented  long 
before  the  antitoxin  for  diphtheria  was  discovered. 
Steel  was  used  for  swords  ages  before  any  one  thought 
of  making  it  into  motor  cars.  These  were  Gorman's 
illustrations.  I  should  not  have  thought  that  motor 
cars  actually  preserve  life;  but  Gorman  is  a  good 
orator  and  a  master  in  the  art  of  concealing  the  weak 
points  of  his  argument.  His  hearers  were  quite  ready 
to  ignore  the  mortality  statistics  of  our  new  motor 
traffic.  The  pig-breeding  scientist  led  a  round  of 
applause. 

Gorman  developed  his  theme.  The  intellect  of  the 
modern  world,  he  said,  was  not  only  occupied  with 
the  problems  of  preserving  life,  but  was  bent  on  mak- 
ing life  more  convenient  and  happier,  especially  the 
life  of  the  toiling  masses  of  our  people.  The 
mediaeval  world  built  cathedrals,  fine  castles,  Doge's 
palaces  and  such  things.  We  have  supplied  mankind 
with  penny  postage  stamps.  Which,  Gorman  asked, 
is  the  greater  achievement:  to  house  a  Doge  or  two 
in  a  building  too  big  for  them  or  to  enable  countless 
mothers — sorrowing  and  lonely  women — to  communi- 
cate by  letter  with  the  children  who  had  left  the 
maternal  home? 

After  dwelling  for  some  time  on  the  conveniences 
Gorman  passed  on  to  speak  of  the  pleasures  of  mod- 
ern life.  He  said  that  pleasures  were  more  important 
than  work,  because  without  pleasures  no  work  could 
be  really  well  done.  When  he  reached  that  point  I 
began  to  see  how  he  meant  to  work  up  to  the  cine- 
matograph and  Tim's  invention.  I  tried  to  get  a 


254  GOSSAMER 

glimpse  of  Mrs.  Ascher's  face.  I  wanted  to  find  out 
how  she  was  taking  this  glorification  of  Tim's  blas- 
phemy against  art.  Unfortunately  I  could  only  see  the 
back  of  her  head.  I  moved  along  the  side  of  the  hall 
as  much  as  I  dared  in  the  hope  of  getting  a  sight  of 
her  face  from  some  angle.  I  failed.  To  this  day  I 
do  not  know  whether  Mrs.  Ascher  admired  Gorman's 
art  as  an  orator  enough  to  make  her  forgive  the  vile 
purpose  for  which  it  was  used. 

When  I  began  to  listen  to  the  speech  again  Gorman 
had  reached  his  peroration. 

The  arts  of  war,  he  said,  were  the  natural  fruits  of 
the  human  intellect  in  a  society  organised  on  an  aris- 
tocratic basis.  The  development  of  the  arts  of  peace 
and  pleasure  followed  the  birth  of  democracy.  Ty- 
rants and  robber  barons  in  old  days  loved  to  fight  and 
lived  to  kill.  The  common,  kindly  men  and  women  of 
our  time,  the  now  at  length  sovereign  people,  lived  to 
love  and  desire  peace  above  all  things. 

"The  spirit  of  democracy,"  said  Gorman,  "is  mov- 
ing through  the  world.  Its  coming  is  like  the  com- 
ing of  the  spring,  gentle,  kindly,  gradual.  We  see  it 
not,  but  in  the  fields  and  hedgerows  of  the  world, 
past  which  it  moves,  we  see  the  green  buds  bursting 
into  leaf,  the  myriad-tinted  flowers  opening  their  petals 
to  the  sunlight.  We  see  the  lives  of  humble  men 
made  glad,  and  our  hearts  are  established  with  strong 
faith;  faith  in  the  spirit  whose  beneficence  we  recog- 
nise, the  spirit  which  at  last  is  guiding  the  whole  wide 
world  into  the  way  of  peace." 

I  gathered  from  these  concluding  remarks  that  all 


GOSSAMER  255 

danger  of  war  had  passed  from  the  horizon  of  human- 
ity since  the  Liberal  Government  muzzled  the  House 
of  Lords. 

Gorman  did  not  mention  this  great  feat  in  plain 
words.  He  suggested  it  in  such  a  way  that  the  Cabinet 
Ministers  in  front  of  him  understood  what  he  meant, 
while  Lady  Kingscourt  and  her  friends  thought  he 
was  referring  to  a  revolution  in  China  or  Portugal  or 
the  establishment  of  some  kind  of  representative  gov- 
ernment in  Thibet.  Thus  every  one  was  pleased  and 
Gorman  climbed  down  from  the  platform  amid  a  burst 
of  applause. 

Lady  Kingscourt  clapped  her  pretty  hands  as  loudly 
as  any  one.  Her  husband  is  a  territorial  magnate. 
Her  brothers  are  soldiers.  But  she  is  prepared  to 
welcome  democracy  and  universal  peace  as  warmly 
as  any  of  us.  Perhaps  what  attracted  her  in  Gorman's 
programme  was  the  prospect  of  a  great  increase  in  the 
pleasures  of  life. 

We  drank  tea,  ate  sandwiches,  cheered  our  hearts 
with  champagne  cup,  chattered  loudly,  and,  the  men 
of  the  party,  stretched  our  legs  for  half  an  hour. 
Then  we  settled  down  again  to  gape  at  Tim's  moving 
figures.  The  new  mirrors  were  well  worth  the  money 
I  spent  on  them.  The  thing  worked  better,  far  bet- 
ter, than  when  I  saw  it  in  the  barn.  I  think  the 
audience  was  greatly  pleased.  Everybody  said  so  to 
me  when  the  time  came  for  escape  from  the  hall. 

Mrs.  Ascher  and  I  drove  back  to  Hampstead  to- 
gether. I  told  her  how  Ascher  had  left  the  hall  and 
that  it  might  be  late  before  he  got  home.  She  sat 


256  GOSSAMER 

silent  beside  me  and  I  thought  that  she  was  wonder- 
ing what  had  happened  to  her  husband.  Just  before 
we  reached  the  house  she  spoke,  and  I  discovered 
that  she  had  all  the  time  been  thinking  of  something 
else,  not  Ascher's  absence. 

"I  was  wrong,"  she  said,  "in  condemning  the  cine- 
matograph and  this  new  invention.  It  is — at  present 
it  is  vile  beyond  words,  vile  as  I  thought  it ;  but  I  see 
now  that  there  are  possibilities." 

"May  I  tell  Tim  that?"  I  said.  "It  would  cheer  him 
greatly.  The  poor  boy  has  never  really  got  over 
what  you  said  to  him  in  New  York,  about  blasphemy, 
you  know." 

"You  may  tell  him,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher,  "that  his 
invention  is  capable  of  being  used  for  the  ends  of  art ; 
that  he  has  created  a  mechanical  body  and  that 
we,  the  artists,  must  breathe  into  it  the  breath  of 
life." 

We  reached  the  house. 

"I  am  coming  in,  if  I  may,"  I  said.  "Mr.  Ascher 
asked  me  to  see  him  to-night  if  possible.  I  promised 
to  wait  for  him  even  if  he  does  not  get  home  till  very 
late." 

"I  Shall  not  sit  up  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher.  "I 
want  to  be  alone  to  think.  I  want  to  discover  the  way 
in  which  art  is  to  take  possession  of  mechanics,  how 
it  is  to  inspire  all  new  discoveries,  to  raise  them  from 
the  level  of  material  things  up  and  up  to  the  mountain 
tops  of  beautiful  emotion." 

"I  shall  tell  Tim  that,"  I  said.  "He'll  be  awfully 
pleased." 


GOSSAMER  257 

Mrs.  Ascher  held  my  hand,  bidding  me  an  impres- 
sive good-night. 

"There  is  a  spirit,"  she  said,  "which  moves  among 
the  multitudinous  blind  gropings  of  humanity.  It 
moves  all  unseen  and  unknown  by  men,  guiding  their 
pitiful  endeavours  to  the  Great  End.  That  End  is 
Duty.  That  spirit  is  Art.  To  recognise  it  is  Faith." 

The  Irish  bishop  who  attended  my  party  is  a  liberal 
and  highly  educated  churchman.  He  once  told  me 
about  a  Spirit  which  moves  very  much  as  Mrs. 
Ascher's  does.  Its  aim  was  goodness  and  the  bishop 
called  it  God.  His  definition  of  faith  was,  except  for 
the  different  object,  precisely  Mrs.  Ascher's. 

Gorman  propounds  a  somewhat  similar  philosophy 
of  life,  and  occasionally  talks  about  faith  in  the  same 
rapt  way.  I  do  not  suppose  that  he  actually  holds  the 
faith  he  preaches,  certainly  not  as  Mrs.  Ascher  and 
the  bishop  hold  theirs.  No  Irishman  is,  or  ever  can 
be,  a  Liberal  after  the  English  fashion;  but  Gorman 
does  talk  about  the  spirit  of  democracy  and  says  he 
looks  forward  to  its  guiding  Humanity  to  a  great 
end,  universal  peace. 

I  made  my  way  into  Ascher's  study,  wondering 
how  long  I  should  have  to  wait  for  him. 

I  wondered  where  he  was  and  what  he  was  doing. 
Who  sent  Jack  Heneage  to  search  for  Ascher?  I 
could  not  remember  whose  private  secretary  Jack  was. 
Mrs.  Ascher  was  thinking  of  art  and  beauty,  the 
bishop,  no  doubt  about  God  and  goodness.  Gorman 
was  turning  over  in  his  mind  nice  new  phrases  about 
democracy  and  peace.  What  was  Ascher  doing? 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

ASCHER'S  servant  followed  me  into  the  study. 
He  placed  a  little  table  beside  the  chair  on  which 
I  sat.  He  set  a  decanter  of  whisky,  a  syphon  of  soda 
water  and  a  box  of  cigars  at  my  elbow.  He  brought 
a  reading  lamp  and  put  it  behind  me,  switching  on 
the  electric  current  so  that  the  light  fell  brightly  over 
my  shoulder.  He  turned  off  the  other  lights  in  the 
room.  He  asked  me  if  there  were  anything  else  he 
could  do  for  me.  Then  he  left  me. 

A  clock,  somewhere  behind  me,  chimed.  It  was  a 
quarter  to  twelve.  I  poured  out  some  whisky  and 
lit  a  cigar.  I  sat  wondering  what  Ascher  was  doing. 
The  clock  chimed  again  and  then  it  struck.  It  was 
twelve  o'clock.  It  was  a  clock  with  a  singularly  mel- 
low gong.  The  sounds  it  made  were  soft  and  unag- 
gressive.  There  was  no  rude  challenge  in  its  asser- 
tion that  time  was  passing  on,  but  the  very  gentle- 
ness of  its  warnings,  a  gentleness  deeply  tinged  with 
melancholy,  infected  me  with  a  strange  restlessness. 
When  for  the  third  time  its  chiming  broke  the  heavy 
silence  of  the  room,  I  rose  from  my  chair.  The  gloom 
which  surrounded  the  circle  of  light  in  which  I  s^at 
weighed  on  my  spirits.  I  touched  a  switch  and  set 
the  lights  above  the  fireplace  shining. 

Over  the  mantelpiece  hung  a  picture,  a  landscape 
258 


GOSSAMER  259 

painting.  A  flock  of  sheep  wandered  through  a  misty 
valley.  There  were  great  mountains  in  the  back- 
ground, their  slopes  and  tops  dimly  discernible 
through  a  haze.  The  haze  and  the  mist  wreaths  would 
certainly  soon  clear  away,  dispersed  by  a  rising  sun. 
The  whole  scene  would  be  stripped  of  its  mystery. 
The  mountain  sides,  the  valley  stream  and  the  grazing 
sheep  would  be  seen  clear  and  bare  in  the  merciless 
light  of  a  summer  morning.  The  painter  had  chosen 
the  moment  while  the  mystery  of  dawn  endured.  I 
felt  that  he  feared  the  passing  of  it,  that  he  shrank 
from  the  inevitable  coming  of  the  hour  when  every- 
thing would  be  clear  and  all  the  outlines  sharp,  when, 
the  searching  sun  would  tear  away  the  compassionate 
coverings,  when  nature  would  appear  less  beautiful 
than'  his  heart  hoped  it  was.  It  was  with  this  picture, 
with  this  and  one  other,  that  Ascher  chose  to  live. 

I  moved  round  the  room,  turning  on  yet  other  lights. 
Over  Ascher's  writing  desk  hung  a  full  length  portrait 
of  a  woman,  of  Mrs.  Ascher,  but  painted  many  years 
ago.  I  have  no  idea  who  the  artist  was  but  he  had 
seen  his  sitter  in  no  common  way.  The  girl,  she  was 
no  more  than  a  girl  when  the  picture  was  painted, 
stood  facing  me  from  the  canvas.  She  was  dressed 
in  a  long,  trailing,  pale  green  robe.  Her  hands  were 
folded  in  front  of  her.  Her  Head  was  a  little  thrown 
back,  so  that  her  neck  was  visible.  Her  skin,  even 
then  in  the  early  days  of  her  womanhood,  was  almost 
colourless.  The  red  colour  of  her  hair  saved  the  pic- 
ture from  deathly  coldness,  contrasting  sharply  with 
the  mass  of  pale  green  drapery  and  the  pallid  skin. 


260  GOSSAMER 

I  have  never  thought  of  Mrs.  Ascher  as  a  beautiful 
woman  or  one  who  at  any  time  of  her  life  could  have 
been  beautiful.  But  the  artist,  whoever  he  was,  had 
seen  in  her  a  singular  alluring  charm.  I  cannot 
imagine  that  I  could  ever  have  been  affected  by  her 
even  if  I  had  seen  her  as  the  artist  did,  as  no  doubt 
Ascher  did.  I  like  normal  people  and  common  things. 
I  should  have  been  afraid  of  the  woman  in  the  pic- 
ture. I  am  in  no  way  like  Keats'  "Knight  at  Arms." 
I  should  simply  have  run  away  from  the  "Belle  Dame 
sans  merci,"  and  no  amount  of  fairy  songs  or  manna 
dew  would  have  enabled  her  to  have  me  in  thrall.  But 
I  could  understand  how  Ascher,  who  evidently  has  a 
taste  for  that  kind  of  thing,  might  have  been  fascinated 
by  the  morbid  beauty  of  the  girl  in  the  picture.  I 
could  understand  how  the  fascination  might  become  an 
enduring  thing ;  a  great  love ;  how  Ascher  would  still 
be  drawn  to  the  woman  long  after  the  elfishness  of 
girlhood  passed  away.  The  soul  would  still  remain 
gleaming  out  of  those  narrow  eyes. 

The  clock  chimed  close  beside  me.  It  was  a  quarter 
to  one.  I  sat  down  again,  poured  out  more  whisky 
and  lit  a  fresh  cigar.  I  left  all  the  lights  in  the  room 
shining.  I  was  determined  to  drag  myself  back  to 
the  commonplace  and  to  cheerfulness. 

I  took  a  book  from  the  table  beside  me.  It  was  evi- 
dently a  book  which  Ascher  had  been  reading.  A 
thin  ivory  blade  lay  between  the  pages,  marking  the 
place  he  had  reached.  The  book  was  a  prophetic 
forecast  of  the  State  of  the  future,  a  record  of  one 
of  those  dreams  of  better,  calmer  times,  which  haunt 


GOSSAMER  261 

the  spirits  of  brave  and  good  men,  to  which  cowards 
turn  when  they  are  made  faint  by  the  contemplation 
of  present  evil  things.  I  read  a  page  or  two  in  one 
part  of  the  book  and  a  page  or  two  in  another.  I  read 
in  one  place  a  whole  chapter.  I  discerned  in  the 
author  an  underlying  faith  in  the  natural  goodness  of 
man.  He  believed,  his  whole  argument  was  based  on 
the  belief,  that  all  men,  but  especially  common  men, 
the  manual  workers,  would  gladly  turn  away  from 
greed  and  lust  and  envy,  would  live  in  beauty  and 
peace,  naturally,  without  effort,  if  only  they  were  set 
free  from  the  pressure  of  want  and  the  threat  of  hun- 
ger. The  evil  which  troubles  us,  so  this  dreamer 
seemed  to  hold,  is  not  in  ourselves  or  of  our  nature. 
It  is  the  result  of  the  conditions  in  which  we  live,  con- 
ditions created  by  our  mistakes,  not  by  our  vices.  I 
wondered  if  Ascher,  with  his  wide  knowledge  of  the 
world,  believed  in  such  a  creed  or  even  cherished  a 
hope  that  it  might  be  true.  Do  men,  in  fact,  become 
saints  straightway  when  their  bellies  are  full  ? 

It  is  strange  how  childish  memories  awaken  in  us 
suddenly.  As  I  laid  down  Ascher's  book  there  came 
to  me  a  picture  of  a  scene  in  my  old  home.  We  were 
at  prayers  in  the  dining-room.  My  father  sat  at  a 
little  table  with  a  great  heavy  Bible  before  him. 
Ranged  along  the  wall  in  front  of  him  was  the  long 
line  of  servants,  the  butler  a  little  apart  from  the 
others  as  befitted  the  chief  of  the  staff.  My  governess 
and  I  sat  together  in  a  corner  near  the  fire.  My  father 
read,  in  a  flat,  unemotional  voice,  read  words  which  he 
absolutely  believed  to  be  the  words  of  God.  "Except 


262  GOSSAMER 

a  man  be  born  again  he  cannot  see  the  Kingdom  of 
God." 

Well,  that  is  a  different  creed.  To  me  it  seems 
more  consonant  with  the  facts  of  life.  Man  as  he  is 
can  neither  enter  into  nor  create  a  great  society  nor 
enjoy  peace  which  comes  of  love.  Hitherto  the  new 
birth  of  the  Spirit,  which  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  has 
been  for  a  few  in  every  generation.  The  hour  of  re- 
birth for  the  mass  of  men  still  lingers.  Will  it  ever 
come — the  time  when  all  the  young  men  see  visions 
and  all  the  old  men  dream  dreams? 

I  stirred  uneasily  in  my  chair  and  looked  up.  I  had 
not  heard  him  enter  the  room,  but  Ascher  stood  be- 
side me. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  here,"  he  said.  "I  hoped  you 
would  be ;  but  I  am  very  late." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "you  are  very  late.  It  is  long  after 
midnight.  Where  have  you  been?  What  have  you 
been  doing?" 

Ascher  sat  down  opposite  to  me,  and  for  some  time 
he  did  not  speak.  I  made  no  attempt  to  press  my 
questions.  If  Ascher  wanted  to  talk  to  me  he  would 
do  so  in  his  own  time  and  in  the  way  he  chose.  I 
supposed  that  he  did  want  to  talk  to  me.  He  had 
asked  me  to  his  house.  He  had  bidden  me  wait  for 
him. 

"I  have  no  right,"  said  Ascher  at  last,  "to  trouble 
you  with  my  difficulties.  I  ought  to  think  them  out 
and  right  them  out  for  myself ;  but  it  will  be  a  help  to 
me  if  I  can  put  them  into  words  and  feel  that  you  are 
listening  to  me." 


GOSSAMER  263 

He  paused  for  so  long  that  I  felt  I  must  make  some 
reply  to  him,  though  I  did  not  know  what  to  say. 

"I  don't  suppose  I  can  be  of  any  use  to  you,"  I  said, 
"but  if  I  can " 

"Perhaps  you  can,"  said  Ascher.  "You  can  listen 
to  me  at  least.  Perhaps  you  can  do  more.  It  is  a 
large  call  to  make  upon  your  friendship  to  treat  you 
in  this  manner,  but — I  am  in  some  ways  a  lonely  man." 

I  have  always,  since  the  day  I  first  met  him,  liked 
and  respected  Ascher.  When  he  spoke  about  his  lone- 
liness I  felt  a  sudden  wave  of  pity  for  him.  It  seems 
a  strange  thing  to  say,  but  at  that  moment  I  had  a 
strong  affection  for  the  man. 

"What  I  partly  foresaw  and  greatly  dreaded  has 
come,"  he  said.  "I  am  certain  now  that  war  is  inevita- 
ble, a  great  war,  almost  perhaps  in  the  end  quite 
worldwide." 

"And  England?"  I  said,  "is  England,  too ?" 

"Almost  inevitably." 

"Germany?"  I  said. 

Ascher  nodded. 

I  was  throbbing  with  excitement.  For  the  moment 
I  felt  nothing  but  a  sense  of  exultation,  strangely  out 
of  harmony  with  the  grave  melancholy  with  which 
Ascher  spoke.  I  suppose  the  soldier  instinct  survives 
in  me,  an  inheritance  from  generations  of  my  fore- 
fathers, all  of  whom  have  worn  swords,  many  of 
whom  have  fought.  We  have  done  our  part  in  build- 
ing up  the  British  Empire,  we  Irish  gentlemen,  fight- 
ing, as  Virgil's  bees  worked,  ourselves  in  our  own  per- 
sons, but  not  for  our  own  gain.  There  is  surely  not 


264  GOSSAMER 

one  battlefield  of  all  where  the  flag  of  England  has 
flown  on  which  we  have  not  led  men,  willing  to  fall 
at  the  head  of  them.  It  seems  strange  now,  looking 
back  on  it,  that  such  an  emotion  should  have  been  pos- 
sible ;  but  at  the  moment  I  felt  an  overmastering  sense 
of  awful  joy  at  Ascher's  news. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  where  I  have  been  to-night,"  said 
Ascher,  "nor  with  whom  I  have  been  talking.  Still 
less  must  I  repeat  what  I  have  heard,  but  this  much 
I  think  I  may  say.  I  was  sent  for  to  give  my  advice 
on  certain  matters  connected  with  finance,  to  express 
an  opinion  about  what  will  happen,  what  dangers 
threaten  in  that  world,  my  world,  the  world  of  money." 

"There'll  be  an  infernal  flurry  on  the  Stock  Ex- 
change," I  said.  "Prices  will  come  tumbling  down 
about  men's  ears.  Fellows  will  go  smash  in  every 
direction." 

"There  will  be  much  more  than  that,"  said  Ascher. 
"The  declaration  of  war  will  not  simply  mean  the 
ruin  of  a  few  speculators  here  and  there.  You  know 
enough  about  the  modern  system  of  credit  to  realise 
something  of  what  we  have  to  face.  There  will  be 
a  sudden  paralysis  of  the  nerves  and  muscles  of  the 
whole  world-wide  body  of  commercial  and  industrial 
life.  The  heart  will  stop  beating  for  a  short  time — 
only  for  a  short  time  I  hope — and  no  blood  will  go 
through  the  veins  and  arteries." 

Ascher  spoke  very  gravely.  Yet,  though  I  had 
spent  months  watching  the  workings  of  his  machine,  I 
could  not  at  the  moment  share  his  mood.  The  war 
fever  was  in  my  blood. 


GOSSAMER  265 

"I  should  change  my  metaphor,"  said  Ascher.  "It 
is  not  a  case  of  a  body  where  the  heart  pumps  blood 
into  the  arteries,  but  of  springs  which  make  brooks, 
brooks  which  flow  into  streams,  which  in  their  turn 
feed  great  rivers.  Now  those  springs  will  be  frozen. 
In  a  million  places  of  which  you  and  I  do  not  even 
know  the  names,  credit  will  be  frozen  suddenly.  There 
will  be  no  water  in  the  brooks  and  streams.  The 
rivers  will  run  dry.'* 

Ascher  had  asked  for  my  sympathy.  I  did  my  best 
to  give  it. 

"It's  a  tremendous  responsibility  for  you,"  I  said, 
"and  men  like  you.  But  you'll  pull  through.  The 
whole  thing  can't  collapse,  simply  can't.  It's  too  big." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Ascher,  "perhaps.  But  it  is  not 
that  side  of  the  matter  which  I  wish  to  speak  to  you 
about.  You  will  forgive  me  if  I  say  that  you  can, 
hardly  understand  or  appreciate  it.  What  I  want  to 
say  to  you  is  something  more  personal.  I  want" — 
Ascher  smiled  wanly — "to  talk  about  myself." 

"You  stand  to  lose  heavily,"  I  said.    "I  see  that." 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Ascher,  "whether  at  the  end 
of  a  week  I  shall  own  one  single  penny  in  the  world. 
I  may  very  well  have  lost  everything.  But  if  that 
were  all  I  should  not  trouble  much.  Merely  to  lose 
money — but " 

He  stopped  speaking,  and  for  a  long  while  sat  silent. 
The  clock  behind  me  chimed  again.  It  was  half  past 
two. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Ascher,  "that  you  have  always 
thought  of  me  as  an  Englishman." 


266  GOSSAMER 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,"  I  said,  "I've  never  thought 
whether  you  are  an  Englishman  or  not.  I  wasn't  in- 
terested. I  suppose  I  took  it  for  granted  that  you 
were  English." 

"I  am  a  German,"  said  Ascher.  "I  was  born  in 
Hamburg,  of  German  parents.  All  my  relations  are 
Germans.  I  came  over  to  England  as  a  young  man 
and  went  into  business  here.  My  business — I  do  not 
know  why — is  one  to  which  Englishmen  do  not  take 
readily.  There  are  English  bankers  of  course,  but  not 
very  many  English  financiers.  Yet  my  particular  kind 
of  banking,  international  banking,  can  best  be  carried 
on  in  England.  That  is  why  I  am  here,  why  my  busi- 
ness is  centred  in  London,  though  I  myself  am  not  an 
Englishman.  I  am  a  German.  Please  understand  that. 
My  brother  is  a  general  in  the  German  Army.  My 
sister's  sons  are  in  the  German  Army  and  Navy.  My 
blood  ties  are  with  the  people  from  whom  I  came." 

I  realised  that  Ascher  was  stating  a  case  of  con- 
science, was  perhaps  asking  my  advice.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  there  was  only  one  thing  which  I  could 
advise,  only  one  possible  course  for  Ascher  to  take. 
Whatever  happened  to  his  business  or  his  private  for- 
tune he  must  be  true  to  his  own  people.  I  was  about 
to  say  this  when  Ascher  raised  his  hand  slightly  and 
stopped  me. 

"I  want  you  to  understand,"  he  said,  "my  blood  ties 
are  with  the  people  from  whom  I  came ;  but  I  am  now 
wholly  English  in  my  sympathies.  I  see  things  from 
the  English  point  of  view,  not  from  the  German.  I 
am  sure  that  it  will  be  a  good  thing  for  the  world  if 


GOSSAMER  267 

England  and  her  Allies  win,  a  bad  thing  if  Germany 
is  victorious  in  the  war  before  us.  Yet  the  blood  tie 
remains.  Who  was  the  Englishman  who  said,  'My 
country,  may  she  always  be  right,  but  my  country 
right  or  wrong'?  It  seems  to  me  a  mean  thing  to 
desert  my  country  now,  even  although  I  have  become 
a  stranger  to  her.  Is  it  not  a  kind  of  disloyalty  to 
range  myself  with  her  enemies  ?' 

Again  Ascher  paused.  This  time  I  was  less  ready 
to  answer  him. 

"I  have  also  to  consider  this,"  he  went  on,  "and  here 
I  get  to  the  very  heart  of  my  difficulty.  I  have  lived 
most  of  my  life  here,  and  I  have  built  up  my  business 
on  an  English  foundation.  I  have  been  able  to  build 
it  up  because  I  had  ready  made  for  me  that  founda- 
tion of  integrity  which  your  English  merchants  have 
established  by  centuries  of  honest  dealing.  Without 
that — if  the  world  had  not  believed  that  my  business 
was  English  and  therefore  stable,  I  could  not  have' 
built  at  all  or  should  have  built  with  much  greater 
difficulty.  My  bank  is  English,  though  I,  who  control 
it,  am  not.  If  I  go  back  to  my  own  people  now,  now 
when  it  seems  treachery  to  desert  them,  the  whole  ma- 
chinery of  the  vast  system  of  credit  which  I  guide 
will  cease  to  work,  will  break  to  fragments.  Of  my 
own  loss  I  say  nothing,  indeed  I  think  nothing.  But 
what  of  the  other  men,  thousands  of  them  who  are 
involved  with  me,  whose  affairs  are  inextricably  mixed 
with  mine,  who  have  trusted  not  me,  but  my  bank, 
trusted  it  because  it  is  an  English  institution?  And 
it  is  English.  Have  I  the  right  to  ruin  them  and  to 


268  GOSSAMER 

break  up  my  bank,  which  belongs  to  your  nation,  of 
which  in  a  sense  I  am  no  more  than  a  trustee  for 
England?  You  understand,  do  you  not?  My  bank  is 
just  as  certainly  of  English  birth  as  I  am  of  German 
birth.  Yet  it  and  I  are  one.  We  cannot  be  divided. 
What  am  I  to  do  ?" 

Ascher  was  asking  questions;  but  I  did  not  think 
that  he  was  asking  them  of  me.  I  felt  that  it  was  my 
part  to  listen,  not  to  answer.  Besides  what  could 
I  answer?  Ascher  had  given  me  a  glimpse  of  one  of 
those  intolerable  dilemmas  from  which  there  is  no 
way  of  escape.  The  choice  between  right  and  wrong, 
when  the  nobler  and  baser  parts  of  our  nature  are  in 
conflict,  is  often  very  difficult  and  painful.  But  there 
are  times — this  was  one  of  them — when  two  of  the 
nobler,  two  of  the  very  noblest  of  our  instincts,  are  set 
against  each  other.  When  we  can  only  do  right  by 
doing  wrong  at  the  same  time,  when  to  be  loyal  we 
must  turn  traitors. 

When  Ascher  spoke  again  he  seemed  to  have  drifted 
away  from  the  subject  of  the  coming  war,  the  finan- 
cial catastrophe  and  his  own  trouble.  I  did  not,  for 
some  time,  guess  where  his  words  were  leading. 

"I  have  been  a  very  careful  observer  of  English 
life,"  he  said,  "ever  since  I  first  came  to  this  country, 
and  no  class  in  your  nation  has  interested  me  more 
than  you  minor  gentry,  the  second  grade  of  your  aris- 
tocracy." 

"Often  spoken  of  as  the  squirearchy,"  I  said.  "It 
is  generally  supposed  to  be  the  most  useless  and  the 
least  intelligent  part  of  the  community.  It  is  rapidly 


GOSSAMER  269 

disappearing,  which,  I  daresay,  is  a  fortunate  thing." 

"Your  greater  nobility,"  said  Ascher,  "is  modern- 
ised, is  necessarily  more  or  less  cosmopolitan.  It  has 
international  interests  and  is  occupied  with  great  af- 
fairs. It  has  been  forced  to  accept  the  standard  of 
ethics  in  accordance  with  which  great  affairs  are  man- 
aged. Your  merchants  and  manufacturers  have  their 
own  code,  by  no  means  a  low  one,  and  their  theory  of 
right  and  wrong.  Between  these  two  classes  come  the 
men  with  lesser  titles  or  no  titles  at  all,  families  which 
spring  from  roots  centuries  deep  in  the  soil  of  Eng- 
land, men  of  some  wealth,  but  not  of  great  riches. 
They  have  their  own  standard,  their  code,  their  pe- 
culiar touchstone  for  distinguishing  fine  conduct  from 
its  imitation,  their  ethic." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  can  understand  your  being  inter- 
ested in  that.  It  is  a  survival  of  a  certain  antiquarian 
value.  It  is  the  quaintest  standard  of  conduct  im- 
aginable, totally  unreasonable  and  inconsistent.  But  it 
exists.  There  are  some  things  which  a  gentleman  of 
that  class  will  not  do." 

"Exactly.  These  men — may  I  say  you,  for  it  is  you 
I  am  thinking  of.  You  have  your  sense  of  honour." 

I  never  was  more  surprised  in  my  life  than  I  was 
when  Ascher  said  that  to  me.  Nothing  that  I  have 
ever  said  or  done  in  his  company  could  possibly  have 
led  him  to  suppose  that  I  am  a  victim  of  that  outworn 
superstition  known  as  the  honour  of  a  gentleman. 

"You  have  an  instinct,"  said  Ascher,  "inherited 
through  many  generations,  a  highly  specialised  sense, 
now  nearly  infallible,  for  knowing  what  is  honourable 


270  GOSSAMER 

and  what  is  base.  I  do  not  know  that  any  of  my 
countrymen  have  that  sense.  I  am  sure  that  the  class 
to  which  I  belong  has  not.  We  look  at  things  in  a 
different  way." 

"A  much  better  way,"  I  said,  "more  practical." 

"Yes,  more  practical.  Better  perhaps  in  the  sense 
of  being  wiser.  But  I  have  a  wish,  an  odd  fancy  if 
you  like,  to  see  things  your  way,  to  guide  my  conduct 
according  to  your  standard  of  honour." 

As  well  as  I  could  make  out  Ascher  was  asking  me 
to  decide  for  him  on  which  horn  of  his  infernal  di- 
lemma he  was  to  impale  himself,  and  to  base  my  de- 
cision on  a  perfectly  absurd  and  arbitrary  set  of  rules 
for  conduct,  none  of  which  could  by  any  possibility  be 
made  to  apply  to  a  situation  like  his. 

"My  dear  Ascher,"  I  said,  "I  can't  possibly  judge 
for  you." 

"You  could  judge  if  it  were  your  own  case,"  he 
said.  "You  could  certainly  judge  then.  Have  you 
ever  in  your  life  been  in  the  smallest  doubt,  even  for 
a  moment,  about  the  way  of  honour,  which  it  is  ?" 

"That  is  all  very  well,"  I  said ;  "I  quite  admit  I  do 
know  that.  I  generally  do  the  other  thing,  but  I  know 
what  I  ought  to  do  according  to  the  ridiculous  stand- 
ard of  my  class.  But  I  don't  know  what  you  ought  to 
do.  That's  a  different  thing  altogether." 

"Because  I  am  not  of  your  class  ?  not  a  gentleman  ?" 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,"  I  said.  "There  aren't  any 
gentlemen  left.  The  species  is  extinct.  The  very 
name  of  it  is  vulgarised.  You're  as  near  being  one  as 
anybody  I  know.  And  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  it. 


GOSSAMER  271 

Gentleman  or  not,  you've  go  to  decide  for  yourself. 
No  man  living  can  do  it  for  you." 

"Your  class  would  decide  for  me  if  I  belonged  to 
it,"  said  Ascher.  "The  collective  wisdom  of  your 
class,  the  class  instinct.  It  would  make  me  certain, 
leave  me  in  no  doubt  at  all,  if  only  I  belonged  to  it, 
were  one  of  you.  The  choice  I  have  to  make " 

Ascher  paused. 

"It's  a  nasty  choice  to  have  to  make.  You've  got  to 
be  disloyal  either  way  you  go.  That's  what  it  comes 
to." 

"There  is  no  other  way,"  said  Ascher  sadly,  "no 
third  way." 

"Not  that  I  can  see." 

There  was,  in  fact,  a  third  way,  though  I  did  not 
see  it  at  the  time.  Mrs.  Ascher  discovered  it.  I  heard 
of  it  two  days  later. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

one  has  greater  respect  and  admiration  for 
Ascher  than  I  have.  I  respect  his  ability.  I 
admire  his  cool  detachment  of  mind  and  his  unfailing 
feeling  for  justice.  I  recognise  in  him  a  magnanimity, 
a  certain  knightliness  which  is  very  rare.  But  it  is 
vain  to  pretend  that  I  can  ever  regard  Ascher  as  an- 
intimate  friend.  I  am  never  quite  comfortable  in  his 
company.  He  lacks  something,  something  essential. 
He  lacks  a  sense  of  humour. 

No  one  in  England — no  one  I  suppose  in  Europe — 
wanted  to  make  jokes  during  that  critical  week  which 
followed  my  interview  with  Ascher.  The  most  aban- 
doned buffoon  shrank  from  jesting  when  every  morn- 
ing brought  a  fresh  declaration  of  war  by  one  great 
power  on  another.  But  even  under  such  circum- 
stances the  sense  of  the  ridiculous  survives — a  thing 
to  be  carefully  concealed — in  those  who  are  fortunate 
enough  to  possess  it.  Ascher  has  no  sense  of  the  ridic- 
ulous. He  sees  men  and  women  clad  in  long,  stately 
robes  moving  through  life  with  grave  dignity  like 
Arab  chiefs  or  caliphs  of  Bagdad.  He  sees  their  ac- 
tions conditioned  and  to  some  extent  controlled  by  the 
influences  of  majestic  inhuman  powers,  the  genii  of 
eastern  tales,  huge,  cloud-girt  spirits  of  oppressive 
solemnity.  In  reality  most  people  wear  motley  all  day 

272 


GOSSAMER  273 

long  and  the  fairy  powers  are  leprechauns,  tricksy, 
irresponsible  sprites,  willing  enough  to  make  merry 
with  those  who  can  laugh  with  them;  but  players  of 
all  Puck's  tricks  on  "wisest  aunts  telling  saddest 
tales." 

I  sometimes  think  that  it  is  Ascher's  chivalry,  his 
fine  knightliness,  which  has  killed  his  sense  of  hu- 
mour. I  cannot  suppose  that  Sir  Galahad  found  any 
delight  in  the  quips  of  fools.  His  owl-like  eyes,  large 
with  the  wonder  of  Holy  Grails,  looked  stupidly  on 
faces  wrinkled  with  merriment.  King  Arthur  could 
never  have  talked  as  he  did  to  Guinevere — Tennyson 
is  my  authority  for  the  things  he  said — if  he  had  not 
had  in  him  the  soul  of  an  earnest  member  of  a  league 
for  the  sympathetic  study  of  social  problems.  Ascher 
is  as  chivalrous  as  any  member  of  King  Arthur's  fel- 
lowship, and  humour,  if  he  ever  had  the  sense  of  it, 
is  dead  in  him.  But  perhaps  he  was  born  without  it 
and  is  by  nature  hopelessly  serious  because  he  is  a 
German.  For  the  Germans  never  seem  to  be  able  to 
appreciate  the  fact  that  the  grandiose  is  invariably 
comic,  and  that  nothing  in  the  world  is  more  difficult 
than  to  stand  toes  to  the  line  of  the  high  heroic  with- 
out stepping  across  it  into  the  region  of  the  ridiculous. 
I  think  of  Wagner's  "Parsifal,"  of  Nietzsche's  "Zara- 
thrusta,"  of  the  Kaiser  Wilhelm's  amazing  "Weltauf- 
fassung,"  and  it  seems  to  me  that  such  things  could 
not  be  in  any  nation  where  one  single  man  knew  how 
to  laugh. 

If  Ascher  had  in  him  the  faintest  glimmering  of  a 
sense  of  humour  he  would  never  have  appealed  to  me, 


274  GOSSAMER 

choosing  the  silent  and  ghostly  middle  of  the  night 
for  the  performance,  to  decide  his  point  of  honour  for 
him.  What  am  I  that  he  should  imagine  me  capable 
of  settling  high  questions  of  that  kind?  An  ex- 
patriated Irishman,  a  dispossessed  landlord,  a  man 
without  one  high  ambition,  a  mere  mocker  of  en- 
thusiasm of  every  kind.  No  one,  unless  he  were  ab- 
solutely blind  to  the  ridiculous,  would  have  consulted 
me  on  such  a  subject  as  the  honour  of  a  gentleman. 

Yet,  in  her  total  lack  of  humour,  Mrs.  Ascher  is  as 
bad  as  her  husband  is.  If  such  a  thing  were  possible 
I  should  say  that  she  is  worse.  There  is,  at  all  events, 
less  excuse  for  her.  She  is  not  knightly,  not  very 
knightly,  though  she  did  champion  the  cause  of  poor, 
oppressed  Ireland.  She  is  an  American,  not  a  Ger- 
man, and  the  Americans  pay  high  honour  to  their 
humourists.  Perhaps  she  has  lived  too  long  with 
Ascher.  Perhaps  she  has  devoted  herself  too  much 
to  art  and  her  steady  contemplation  of  the  sublime  has 
killed  her  sense  of  the  ridiculous.  At  all  events  it  is 
dead.  She  has  no  humour  now. 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  imagine  that  any  woman 
would  have  been  capable  of  calling  in  Gorman  and 
me  as  advisers  and  helpers  at  a  critical  moment  of 
her  life.  Yet  that  is  what  Mrs.  Ascher  did. 

We  obeyed  the  summons  of  course,  both  of  us. 

Gorman  got  there  first.  I  found  him  seated  op- 
posite Mrs.  Ascher  in  the  large  drawing-room  of  the 
house  in  Hampstead.  Mrs.  Ascher  is  lacking  in  hu- 
mour, but  she  has  a  fine  sense  of  dramatic  propriety. 
Great  decisions  can  only  be  come  to  fittingly,  mighty 


\ 

GOSSAMER  275 

spiritual  tragedies  can  only  be  satisfactorily  enacted, 
in  spacious  rooms.  And  there  must  be  emptiness. 
Knicknacks  and  pretty  ornaments  kill  high  emotion. 
The  chamber  of  a  dainty  woman,  the  room  which  deli- 
cate feminity  has  made  its  own,  will  suit  a  light  flirta- 
tion, the  love-making  of  a  summer  afternoon,  but 
deep  passion  is  out  of  place  in  it. 

I  walked  cautiously  across  a  wide  space  of  slippery 
floor  in  order  to  shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Ascher.  I 
saw  that  Gorman  was  sitting  in  a  huge  straight-backed 
chair  with  heavily  carved  elbow  rests.  It  was  the 
sort  of  chair  which  would  have  suited  a  bishop — in 
the  chancel  of  his  cathedral,  not  in  his  private  room — • 
and  a  major  excommunication  might  very  suitably 
have  been  delivered  from  it. 

"I  am  in  great  trouble,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher,  "and  I 
have  asked  you  two  to  come  to  me  because  you  are* 
my  friends.  I  was  right  to  call  you,  was  I  not  ?" 

She  looked  at  Gorman  and  then  at  me,  evidently  ex- 
pecting us  to  make  a  confession  of  friendship  for 
her.  Gorman  wriggled  in  a  way  that  made  me  think 
the  carving  of  the  chair  must  be  sticking  into  him 
somewhere.  But  he  did  not  fail  Mrs.  Ascher. 

"You  were  right,"  he  said  with  deep  feeling,  "alto- 
gether right." 

I  was  not  going  to  be  outdone  by  Gorman. 

"'A  friend/"  I  said,  "'must  bear  a  friend's  in- 
firmities.' " 

The  quotation  was  not  wholly  happy,  but  Mrs. 
Ascher  seemed  to  like  it.  She  smiled  gratefully. 

"My  husband,"  she  said, 


276  GOSSAMER 

I  knew  it  must  be  her  husband's  affairs  which  were 
troubling  her. 

"He  is  in  a  very  difficult  position,"  I  said.  "I  had 
a  long  talk  with  him  the  other  night.  It  seems  to  me 
that  he  has  to  choose  between " 

Gorman  interrupted  me. 

"He's  in  an  infernally  awkward  hole,"  he  said. 
"The  English  people  will  lose  their  tempers  to  a  cer- 
tainty, not  at  first  perhaps,  but  as  soon  as  anything 
goes  against  them.  When  they  do  they'll  make  things 
damnably  unpleasant  for  any  one  who's  suspected  of 
being  German  or  even  remotely  connected  with  Ger- 
many. That's  the  sort  of  people  the  English  are.  And 
Ascher  is  just  the  man  they'll  fasten  on  at  once. 
They'll  hunt  him  down." 

Mrs.  Ascher  looked  at  Gorman  while  he  spoke. 
Her  face  expressed  a  quiet  dignity. 

"That  is  not  the  difficulty,"  she  said.  "What  people 
say  or  think  of  us  or  do  to  us  does  not  matter.  We 
live  our  own  lives.  We  can  always  live  them,  apart 
from,  above  the  bitter  voices  of  the  crowd." 

"All  the  same,"  said  Gorman,  "it  will  be  unpleasant. 
It  will  be  a  great  deal  worse  than  merely  unpleasant. 
If  I  were  Ascher  I  should  get  on  the  safe  side  at  once. 
I  should  give  a  thumping  big  subscription — £50,000  or 
something  that  will  attract  attention — to  some  popular 
fund.  I  should  offer  to  present  the  War  Office  with 
half  a  dozen  aeroplanes  to  be  called  'The  Ascher  Fly- 
ing Fleet';  or  a  first-rate  cannon  of  the  largest  size. 
A  good  deal  can  be  done  to  shut  people's  mouths  in 
that  sort  of  way." 


GOSSAMER  277 

"You  do  not  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Ascher. 

She  turned  to  me,  evidently  hoping  that  I  would 
explain  Ascher's  real  difficulty  to  Gorman.  I  hesi- 
tated for  a  moment.  It  was  plain  to  me  that  though 
Gorman  did  not  appreciate  the  reality  of  the  spiritual 
crisis,  he  did  understand  something  which  had  escaped 
me  and,  so  far  as  I  knew,  had  escaped  Ascher  also.  I 
had  a  vivid  recollection  of  the  unenviable  position  of 
men  suspected  of  lukewarm  patriotism  during  the  Boer 
War.  In  the  struggle  we  were  then  entering  upon 
popular  passion  would  be  far  more  highly  excited. 
The  position  of  the  Aschers  in  England  might  become 
impossible. 

Gorman  with  his  highly  developed  faculty  for  gaug- 
ing the  force  and  direction  of  popular  opinion  under- 
stood at  once  and  thoroughly  the  difficulties  that  lay 
before  Ascher.  What  he  did  not  understand  was  the 
peculiar  difficulty  which  Ascher  felt.  I  responded  to 
Mrs.  Ascher's  glance  of  appeal  and  tried  to  explain 
things  to  Gorman. 

"Ascher,"  I  said,  "is  pulled  two  ways.  His  country 
is  pulling  him.  That's  the  call  of  patriotism.  You 
ought  to  understand  that,  Gorman.  You're  a  tre- 
mendous patriot  yourself.  But  if  he  goes  back  to  his 
country  now  he  absolutely  ruins  his  business.  That 
means  a  lot  more  than  merely  losing  his  money.  It 
means  more  even  than  losing  other  people's  money,  the 
money  of  the  men  who  trusted  him.  It  means  that  he 
must  be  false  to  his  commercial  honour.  You  see 
that,  don't  you,  Gorman  ?  And  there  doesn't  seem  any 
way  out  of  the  dilemma.  He  has  got  to  go  back  on  his 


278  GOSSAMER 

patriotism  or  on  his  honour.  There  is  no  other 
course." 

I  looked  at  Mrs.  Ascher  for  approval.  I  had  stated 
her  husband's  dilemma  clearly,  I  believed  fairly.  Gor- 
man could  hardly  fail  to  understand.  I  thought  Mrs. 
Ascher  would  have  been  pleased  with  me.  To  my 
amazement  she  acknowledged  my  efforts  with  a  burst 
of  indignation. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "you  do  not  understand,  either  of 
you.  You  do  not  even  begin  to  understand.  I  sup- 
pose you  cannot,  because  you  are  men  and  not  women. 
You  men !  All  of  you,  my  husband,  too,  though  he  is 
far  above  the  rest  of  you — but  even  he !  You  concern 
yourselves  about  things  which  are  nothing.  You  ar- 
gue about  phantoms  and  discuss  them  as  if  they  were 
realities.  And  all  the  time  you  miss  the  things  which 
are.  You  think" — she  spoke  directly  to  Gorman  and 
her  voice  expressed  the  utmost  scorn — "you  think 
about  reputation,  the  way  men  babble  about  each  other 
and  will  babble  about  us.  Why  should  we  care  ?  Even 
if  we  were  afraid  of  what  men  say  there  are  places 
in  the  world  to  which  the  voices  of  Europe  cannot 
reach.  There  are  islands  in  the  sea  where  the  sun 
shines  and  palm  trees  grow,  to  which  the  talk  of  men 
who  dwell  in  cities  never  comes." 

I  recollected  the  desire  which  Mrs.  Ascher  had 
once  expressed  to  me  of  getting  "far,  far  away  from 
everywhere."  She  evidently  hoped  to  be  able  to  try 
that  experiment. 

She  turned  from  Gorman  and  faced  me. 

"You  talk,"  she  said,  "about  honour  and  patriotism. 


GOSSAMER  279 

What  are  they?  Words,  just  words.  It  is  only  you 
men,  slaves  of  your  own  conventions,  who  take  them 
for  realities.  We  women  know  better.  You  go  about 
life  imagining  that  your  limbs  are  bound  with  fetters. 
They  are  bound  with  delusions.  We  women  know. 
Love  and  beauty  are  real.  Nothing  else  is.  All  your 
fine  words  are  like  the  flags  under  which  your  dupes 
go  out  to  die;  fluttering  rags  to  us  whose  eyes  are 
open.  You  talk — oh,  so  finely  you  talk — about  the 
shadows  your  own  imaginings  cast,  and  you  end  in 
being  afraid  of  them.  You  talk — you  dare  to  talk  to 
me  of  money " 

This  was  a  totally  unjust  accusation.  I  had  not 
talked  about  money.  I  had  more  sense  than  to  men- 
tion money  to  a  woman  in  Mrs.  Ascher's  frame  of 
mind. 

"I  have  money  enough  of  my  own,"  she  said.  "He 
and  I  want  very  little.  What  do  we  care  for  except 
just  to  love  each  other  and  to  see  beautiful  things  and 
to  escape  from  all  this  nightmare  of  blood  and  hate 
and  horror  and  hideousness  ?" 

I  felt  helpless.  Mrs.  Ascher  had  undoubtedly  hit 
on  a  new  solution  of  the  problem.  She  proposed  that 
Ascher  should  impale  himself  not  on  one  or  other,  but 
on  both  horns  of  the  dilemma,  be  false  to  every  kind 
of  honour  and  loyalty.  It  was,  I  suppose,  possible 
for  Ascher  to  pack  a  bag  and  take  to  flight,  simply  to 
disappear,  leaving  everything  behind  him.  He  and 
she  might  go  to  some  valley  in  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
to  some  unknown  creek  on  the  Calif ornian  coast,  to 
some  island  in  the  South  Pacific.  If  she  were  right 


280  GOSSAMER 

about  honour  and  faithfulness  and  patriotism,  if  these 
are,  after  all,  only  idols  of  the  tribe,  then  she  and 
Ascher  might  be  very  happy.  They  would  have  all 
that  either  of  them  required. 

I  looked  at  Gorman.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
helpless  as  I  was.  Mrs.  Ascher  began  to  plead  with 
us  in  a  way  that  was  very  strange  to  listen  to. 

"Life  is  so  short,"  she  said.  "Already  most  of  it 
is  gone  from  us.  We  have  only  a  few  years  more, 
he  and  I.  Why  should  we  be  miserable?  There  is 
happiness  waiting  for  us.  There  is  nothing  between 
us  and  happiness  except  words,  honor,  patriotism, 
right,  wrong.  These  are  words,  only  words.  They 
are  gossamer  threads  which  we  break  as  we  go,  break 
without  feeling  them  if  only  we  go  boldly.  Will  you 
not  help  me?  Tell  him  that  what  I  say  is  true.  He 
will  listen  to  you  because  you  are  men ;  and  you  know 
in  your  hearts  that  I  speak  what  is  true,  that  I  have 
hold  upon  reality." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  after  she  stopped 
speaking.  Before  either  Gorman  or  I  attempted  to 
make  any  answer  Ascher  himself  came  into  the  room. 
I  certainly  did  not  expect  to  see  him.  Mrs.  Ascher 
was,  I  am  sure,  as  much  surprised  as  I  was.  It  was 
about  twelve  o'clock  and  at  that  hour  Ascher  is  always 
in  his  office.  He  crossed  the  room  quietly.  He  greeted 
Gorman  and  me  without  a  sign  that  our  presence  was 
unexpected  or  unwelcome.  He  went  to  his  wife  and 
took  her  hand  in  his.  She  clung  to  him,  looking  up 
into  his  face.  She  knew  at  once  that  he  had  something 
very  important  to  say  to  her. 


GOSSAMER  281 

"You  have  decided  ?"  she  said. 

Ascher's  eyes  met  hers.  His  face  seemed  to  me 
full  of  tenderness  and  pity.  He  held  her  hand  tightly. 
He  bowed  his  head,  a  silent  "yes"  to  the  question  she 
asked. 

"To  leave  it  all  and  come  with  me?"  she  said; 
"away,  away." 

Ascher  did  not  speak;  but  she  knew  and  I  knew 
that  his  decision  was  not  that. 

The  scene  was  very  painful.  I  felt  that  I  had  no 
right  whatever  to  witness  it.  Gorman,  I  am  sure, 
would  have  been  glad  to  escape.  But  it  was  very  diffi- 
cult for  us  to  get  away.  Neither  Ascher  nor  his  wife 
seemed  conscious  of  our  presence.  We  stood  helpless 
a  little  apart  from  them.  Gorman,  with  that  unfailing 
tact  of  his,  did,  or  tried  to  do  the  only  thing  which 
could  have  relieved  the  intolerable  tension.  He  made 
an  effort  to  get  us  all  back  to  the  commonplace. 

"You're  in  a  devil  of  an  awkward  situation, 
Ascher,"  he  said.  "A  good  deal  seems  to  me  to  de- 
pend on  whether  you  are  a  naturalised  British  sub- 
ject or  not.  If  you  have  been  naturalised  you  ought 
to  be  able  to  pull  through,  though  it  won't  be  pleasant 
even  then." 

"I  have  not  been  naturalised,"  said  Ascher.  "I  never 
thought  of  it." 

"That's  a  pity,"  said  Gorman.  "Still — in  the  case  of 
a  man  in  your  position  I  daresay  it  can  be  managed 
even  now.  I'll  use  my  influence.  I  know  most  of 
the  members  of  the  Cabinet  pretty  well.  I  can  put  it 
to  them  that,  from  an  English  point  of  view,  consider- 


282  GOSSAMER 

ing  the  tremendous  importance  of  your  business,  con- 
sidering the  financial  collapse  which  would  follow — oh, 
we'll  be  able  to  manage." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Ascher,  "but  that  purely  legal 
aspect  of  the  matter  does  not  at  the  moment  strike 
me  as  the  most  important  or  the  most  pressing.  No 
doubt  it  is  important  and  your  kindness  will  be  helpful. 
But  just  now  I  cannot  speak  about  that.  There  is,  you 
see,  my  country  and  the  loyalty  I  owe  to  it.  I  do  not 
seem  to  escape  from  that  obligation  by  a  process  of 
law.  I  may  legalise,  but  do  I  really  justify,  treachery 
to  the  claim  of  patriotism?" 

I  have  always  felt, — felt  rather  than  known, — that 
there  is  a  queer  strain  of  mysticism  in  Gorman.  His 
arid  common  sense,  his  politics,  his  rhetoric,  his  tricky 
money-making,  are  the  outside,  visible  things  about 
him.  Behind  them,  deep  down,  seldom  seen,  is  a 
strange,  emotional  love  for  his  country.  When  Aschef 
spoke  as  he  did  about  the  claim  of  patriotism  Gorman 
understood.  The  innermost  part  of  the  man  was 
reached.  Without  hesitating  for  an  instant,  without 
consideration  or  debate,  Gorman  leaped  to  a  solution 
of  the  problem. 

"Loyalty  to  your  country  comes  first,"  he  said;  "it 
must.  Everything  else  goes  by  the  board.  I  did  not 
know  you  felt  that  way  about  Germany;  but  since 

you  do There  is  no  more  to  be  said.  Go  back  to 

your  own  country  of  course.  You  can't  help  your- 
self." 

I  have  no  doubt  that  Gorman  meant  exactly  what 
he  said.  If  he  had  been  in  Ascher's  position,  if  once 


GOSSAMER  283 

the  issue  became  quite  plain  to  him  and  the  tangle  of 
political  alliances  were  swept  away,  he  would  have 
thrown  all  his  interests  and  every  other  kind  of  honour 
to  the  wind.  He  would  have  sacrificed  his  business, 
would  if  necesary  have  parted  with  his  wife ;  he  would 
have  been  loyal  to  the  land  of  his  birth,  entirely  con- 
temptuous of  any  other  call  or  any  claim. 

Mrs.  Ascher  clung  tightly  to  her  husband's  arm. 

"Words,"  she  said,  "words,  only  words.  You  must 
not  listen  to  him." 

Ascher  felt  for  her  hands  again,  grasped  them  and 
held  them  pressed  close  against  him.  He  turned  from 
Gorman  to  me. 

"And  you,"  he  said,  "what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

The  question  took  me  by  surprise.  I  had  no  diffi- 
cult decision  to  make.  My  course  was  in  clear  day- 
light. Besides,  it  did  not  matter  to  any  one  what  I 
did. 

"You,  yourself,"  said  Ascher  again.  "What  are 
you  going  to  do?" 

"Oh,"  I  said,  "I'm  going  back  to  my  regiment.  I 
suppose  they'll  take  me.  Anyhow  I  shall  offer  my- 
self." 

"And  fight?"  said  Ascher. 

"Well,  yes.  I  suppose  I  shall  fight.  This  war  won't 
be  over  in  a  week.  I'm  pretty  sure  to  get  my  turn. 
Yes,  I  shall  almost  certainly  fight." 

"Why?"  said  Ascher.    "What  will  you  fight  for?" 

It  was  Gorman  who  answered  the  question.  He 
had  recovered  from  his  brief  outburst,  and  had  become 
the  normal  Gorman  again. 


284  GOSSAMER 

"The  war,"  he  said,  "is  for  the  liberation  of  Eu- 
rope. It  is  a  vast  struggle,  an  Armageddon  in  which 
the  forces  of  reaction,  absolutism,  tyranny,  a  military 
caste  are  ranged  against  democracy.  It  is  their  last 
appearance  upon  the  stage  of  history.  Vindicated 
now,  the  principles  of  democracy " 

"If  you  think,"  I  said,  "that  I'm  going  out  to  fight 
for  the  principles  of  democracy,  you're  making  a  big 
mistake.  There's  nothing  in  the  world  I  dislike  more 
than  that  absurd  democracy  of  yours." 

"Then  why  ?"  said  Ascher,  mildly  persistent.  "Why 
are  you  going  to  fight  ?" 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I  don't  want  to  say  anything  offen- 
sive about  your  people,  Ascher.  The  Germans  have 
a  lot  of  fine  qualities,  but  if  they  were  to  win  this  war, 
if  they  were  to  succeed  in  imposing  their  civilisation 
and  their  mentality  on  us  all,  if  they  were  to  Ger- 
manise the  world,  the  sense  of  humour  would  perish 
from  among  men.  Nobody  would  any  longer  be  able 
to  laugh.  We — we  should  find  ourselves  taking  gov- 
ernments and  officials  seriously.  Just  imagine!  To 
live  under  a  bureaucracy  and  not  to  see  that  it  was 
funny !  Surely  it's  worth  while  fighting  for  the  right 
to  laugh." 

"You  Irish !"  said  Ascher.  "Even  in  times  like  this 
your  love  of  paradox " 

"Don't  say  it,"  I  said.  "If  you  can  possibly  help 
it  don't  say  that.  I  admit  that  I  brought  it  on  myself 
and  deserve  it.  I  apologise.  That  is  not  my  real  rea- 
son for  going  back  to  my  regiment.  I  only  gave  it  to 
you  because  I  don't  know  what  my  real  reason  is. 


GOSSAMER  285 

It's  not  patriotism.  I  haven't  got  any  country  to  be 
patriotic  about.  It's  not  any  silly  belief  in  liberty  or 
democracy.  I  don't  know  why  I'm  doing  it.  I  just 
have  to.  That's  all." 

"Noblesse  oblige,"  said  Ascher.  "Your  honour  as 
a  gentleman." 

I  shuddered.  Ascher — there  is  no  other  way  of  put- 
ting it — is  grossly  indecent.  A  woman  has  a  sense  of 
modesty  about  her  body.  It  would  be  considered  an 
outrage  to  strip  her  and  leave  her  stark  naked  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  I  cannot  see  why  a  man  should 
not  be  credited  with  some  feeling  of  modesty  about 
his  soul.  I  detest  having  my  last  garments  plucked 
from  me  in  public.  Complete  spiritual  nudity  causes 
me  very  great  embarrassment. 

"You  can  put  it  that  way  if  you  like,"  I  said.  "The 
plain  fact  is  I  can't  help  myself.  I  must  go  back  to 
my  regiment.  I  have  no  choice." 

"I  have  come  to  see,"  said  Ascher,  "that  I  have  no 
choice  either.  There  is  such  a  thing,  though  perhaps 
Mr.  Gorman  will  not  believe  me — there  is  such  a  thing 
as  the  honour  of  a  banker.  It  compels  me." 

He  put  his  arm  round  his  wife's  waist  as  he  spoke. 
Still  holding  her  hands  in  one  of  his,  he  led  her  from 
the  room.  Her  head  drooped  against  his  shoulder  as 
they  went  out. 

"I  suppose  that  means,"  said  Gorman,  "that  he's 
going  to  stick  it  out  and  see  the  thing  through.  It  will 
be  infernally  awkward  for  him.  I  don't  think  he 
realises  how  nasty  it  will  be.  He  hasn't  considered 
that  side  of  it." 


286  GOSSAMER 

"A  man  doesn't  consider  that  side  of  things,"  I  said, 
"when  he's  up  against  it  as  Ascher  is." 

"Well,  I'll  do  my  best  about  the  naturalisation  pa- 
pers. That'll  be  some  help." 

"It's  very  hard  to  be  sure,"  I  said,  "but  I'm  in- 
clined to  think  that  Ascher  is  right." 

"He's  utterly  wrong,"  said  Gorman.  "A  man's 
country  ought  to  come  first  always.  You  don't  under- 
stand that  because  you're  denationalised;  because,  as 
you  say  yourself,  you  have  no  country.  But  it's  true, 
whether  you  understand  it  or  not." 

"When  I  think  of  that  business  of  his,"  I  said,  "the 
immense  complexity  of  it,  the  confidence  of  thousands 
of  men  in  each  other,  all  resting  at  last  on  a  faith  in 
the  integrity  of  one  man,  or  rather  of  a  firm — the 
existence  of  such  a  business,  world-wide,  interna- 
tional, entirely  independent  of  all  ties  of  race,  na- 
tionality, language,  religion,  in  a  certain  sense  wider 
than  any  of  these — it's  a  great,  human  affair,  not  Eng- 
lish nor  German,  not  the  white  man's  nor  the  yellow 
man's,  not  Christian  nor  Buddhist  nor  Mohammedan, 
just  human.  Ascher  owes  some  kind  of  loyalty  to  a 
thing  like  that.  It's  a  frightfully  complicated  ques- 
tion ;  but  on  the  whole  I  think  he  is  right." 

Gorman  was  not  listening  to  me.  He  had  ceased, 
for  the  time,  to  be  interested  in  Ascher's  decision.  I 
tried  to  regain  his  attention. 

"Ascher  says,"  I  said,  "that  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  the  honour  of  a  banker,  of  a  financier." 

That  ought  to  have  roused  Gorman  to  a  contradic- 
tion ;  but  it  did  not 


GOSSAMER  287 

"Do  you  think,"  he  said,  "that  we  could  get  them 
to  take  on  Tim  in  any  job  connected  with  flying  ma- 
chines? This  war  will  knock  all  his  inventions  into 
a  cocked  hat.  He  will  simply  be  left,  and  he  has  a  real 
turn  for  mechanics.  If  he  got  messing  about  with 
aeroplanes  he  might  do  something  big,  something 
really  valuable.  But  I  don't  know  how  to  go  about 
getting  that  sort  of  job  for  him.  I'm  not  in  with  mili- 
tary people.  Look  here,  you've  a  lot  of  influence  with 
the  War  Office " 

"No,"  I  said.    "None." 

"Nonsense.  You  must  have.  A  word  from 

you I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  I'll  work 

Ascher's  naturalisation  papers  for  him,  and  you  get 
Tim  taken  on  by  the  Army  Flying  Corps  people." 

"Perhaps,"  I  said,  "you'd  like  me  to  get  you  a  Staff 
appointment  while  I'm  at  it." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Gorman.  "I'm  not  a  soldier,  I'm  a 
Member  of  Parliament.  My  job  is " 

Gorman  hesitated.  For  a  moment  I  thought  that 
he  was  in  real  doubt,  was  actually  wondering  what 
place  he  ought  to  take,  what  work  he  ought  to  do. 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "You.  Now,  what  is  your  idea  for 
yourself  ?" 

Gorman  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  squared 
his  shoulders  and  puffed  out  his  chest. 

"My  place,"  he  said,  "is  in  the  great  council  of  the 
Empire." 

I  gasped. 

"Good  Lord!"  I  said.  "You  don't  really  think— 
you  can't  think,  that  your  silly  old  Parliament  is  going 


288  GOSSAMER 

to  matter  now ;  that  you  politicians  will  be  allowed  to 
go  on  talking,  that  there  will  be  divisions  in  the  House, 
and  elections  and  all  that  foolishness." 

Gorman,  still  heroically  erect,  still  enormously 
swelled  in  chest,  winked  at  me  with  careful  delibera- 
tion. I  was  immensely  relieved. 

"Thank  God,"  I  said.  "For  a  moment  I  thought 
you  really  meant  it — all  that  great-council-of-the-Em- 
pire  business,  you  know.  It  would  have  been  a  hor- 
rible disappointment  to  me  if  you  had.  I've  come  to 
have  a  high  regard  for  you,  Gorman,  and  I  really 
could  not  have  borne  it.  But  of  course  I  ought  to  have 
known  better.  You  couldn't  have  believed  in  that 
stuff,  simply  couldn't.  Nobody  with  your  intelligence 
could.  But  seriously,  now,  I  should  like  to  know — 

I'm  sure  you  won't  mind  telling  me What  are 

you  going  to  do?  Your  party,  I  mean.  It  seems  to 
me  you're  in  rather  a  hole.  The  Irish  people  will  ex- 
pect you  to  take  the  regular  line  of  backing  the 
enemy." 

"The  Irish  people  be  damned,"  said  Gorman;  "our 
game  is  to  support  the  Government." 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

I  LOOK  back  on  the  time  I  spent  soldiering — sol- 
diering under  war  conditions — as  a  curious  blank 
in  an  otherwise  interesting  and  amusing  life.  From 
the  day  on  which  I  rejoined  my  regiment  until  the 
day,  about  five  months  later,  when  I  escaped  from  the 
hospital  in  which  I  was  incarcerated,  my  mind  stopped 
working  altogether.  I  took  no  interest  whatever  in 
any  of  the  things  which  used  to  excite  me,  which  are 
now,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  beginning  to  amuse  me 
again.  Politicians,  I  believe,  pranced  about  with  fasci- 
nating agility.  I  did  not  care  to  look  at  them.  News- 
paper proprietors  demanded  the  immediate  execution 
of  one  public  man  after  another.  I  do  not  believe  I 
should  have  cared  if  a  guillotine  had  been  set  up  in 
Piccadilly  Circus  and  a  regular  reign  of  terror  estab- 
lished. I  lost  sight  of  Gorman.  The  Aschers  faded 
from  my  memory. 

I  spent  three  months  or  so  in  camp  with  my  old 
regiment.  I  worked  exceedingly  hard.  I  ate  enor- 
mously. I  slept  profoundly.  I  attained  an  almost  in- 
credible perfection  of  physical  health.  I  ceased  to 
think  about  anything.  My  experience  of  the  business 
of  actual  fighting  was  brief.  I  had  little  more  than  a 
month  of  it  altogether.  Then  they  sent  me  home  with 
a  shattered  leg.  I  worked  harder  than  ever  when  I 

289 


290  GOSSAMER 

was  at  the  Front.  I  was  often  very  uncomfortable.  I 
remained  amazingly  healthy.  I  suffered  at  last  a  good 
deal  of  physical  pain.  I  did  not  think  at  all,  even 
about  the  progress  of  the  war. 

I  date  my  awakening  again  to  the  interests  of  life! 
from  the  day  when  Gorman  paid  me  his  first  visit.  I 
was  convalescent  and  had  made  myself  fairly  com- 
fortable in  a  cottage  near  Guildford.  I  had  got  rid 
of  the  last  of  a  long  series  of  nurses.  My  leg  had 
ceased  to  cause  me  any  active  annoyance,  but  I  was 
beginning  to  find  myself  a  good  deal  bored  and  not  a 
little  depressed.  When  Gorman  walked  in  I  was  not, 
just  at  first,  particularly  glad  to  see  him. 

"Let  me  congratulate  you,"  he  said. 

"On  being  alive  ?    Is  that  a  blessing  ?" 

I  had  been  brooding  over  the  fact  that  I  was  lame 
for  life.  Gorman's  breezy  cheerfulness  rather  jarred 
me. 

"Of  course  it's  a  blessing  to  be  alive,"  said  Gor- 
man, "but  I  wasn't  thinking  of  that.  What  I  was  con- 
gratulating you  on  was  being  a  hero.  D.  S.  O.,  isn't 
it?  Tell  me  all  about  it,  won't  you?" 

I  have  been  given  the  right  of  appending  those  three 
letters  to  my  name,  so  I  suppose  I  must  have  avoided 
the  worst  kinds  of  blundering  and  incompetence.  But 
I  have  no  recollection  of  doing  anything  to  deserve 
the  honour.  I  fear  I  answered  Gorman  rather  ill- 
temperedly. 

"There's  nothing  whatever  to  tell,"  I  said.  "I  just 
crawled  about  in  a  trench,  generally  muddy.  Every- 
body else  did  exactly  the  same." 


GOSSAMER  291 

Gorman  is  still  the  same  man  he  always  was,  amaz- 
ingly tactful  and  sympathetic.  He  realised  at  once 
that  I  hated  talking  about  the  war  and  was  in  no  mood 
for  recounting  my  own  experiences.  Instead  of  press- 
ing me  with  silly  questions  until  he  drove  me  mad, 
he  dropped  the  subject  of  my  D.  S.  O.  and  began 
to  babble  agreeably  about  other  things. 

"Politics,"  he  said,  "have  got  into  a  frightful  state. 
In  fact  there  are  hardly  any  politics  at  all.  We  haven't 
had  a  decent  rag  since  the  war  began.  We  all  sit 
round  cooing  at  each  other  like  beastly  little  green 
lovebirds  in  a  cage.  It  can't  last  long,  of  course. 
Sooner  or  later  somebody's  bound  to  break  out  and 
try  to  bite;  but  for  the  present  Parliament's  the 
dullest  place  in  Europe." 

I  began  to  feel  slightly  interested. 

"I  remember  hearing,"  I  said,  "that  you  National- 
ists promised  not  to  cheer  for  the  Germans." 

"We  did  more  than  that,"  said  Gorman.  "We  ral- 
lied to  the  Empire  at  the  very  start  and  have  kept  on 
rallying  ever  since.  It  felt  odd  at  first,  but  you  get 
used  to  anything  in  time,  even  to  being  loyal.  You'd 
have  been  surprised  if  you'd  heard  me  singing,  'God 
Save  the  King'  in  Dublin  last  week." 

"Did  you  really?" 

"Twice,"  said  Gorman,  "on  two  consecutive  days." 

A  world  in  which  such  things  could  happen  might, 
I  began  to  feel,  be  worth  living  in  after  all.  I  smiled 
feebly  at  Gorman.  He  responded  with  a  delicious 
wink. 

"What's  happened  to  Home  Rule?"  I  said. 


292  GOSSAMER 

"For  the  present  it's  hung  up ;  a  case  of  suspended 
animation;  our  idea  is  that  if  we're  thoroughly  loyal 
now  the  English  people  will  be  so  grateful  to  us " 

"But  they'll  be  just  as  grateful  to  the  Ulstermen," 
I  said.  "They're  loyal,  too,  I  suppose." 

"That's  the  difficulty,  of  course,"  said  Gorman. 
"But  what  else  could  we  do?  If  we'd  allowed  the 
Orangemen  to  make  a  corner  in  loyalty  at  the  present 
crisis " 

"Crisis!"  I  said.  "How  that  word  brings  it  all 
back  to  me?  Are  we  still  going  through  a  crisis? 
Fancy  the  word  surviving !" 

"It's  about  the  only  part  of  our  old  political  system 
which  does  survive.  The  rest's  gone,  hopelessly." 

Gorman  sighed,  and  I  began  to  feel  depressed  again. 
But  Gorman  is  not  the  man  to  sorrow  long,  even  over 
the  decay  of  the  British  Constitution.  He  dropped  the 
unpleasant  subject  and  started  fresh. 

"Tim,"  he  said,  "has  been  rather  a  disappointment 
to  me.  He  hasn't  invented  a  single  thing  since  the 
war  began." 

"I  should  have  thought,"  I  said,  "that  this  would 
have  been  his  opportunity." 

"So  it  is.  The  country's  simply  crying  out  for  in- 
ventions. Aerial  torpedoes,  traps  for  submarines, 
wireless  methods  of  exploding  the  enemy's  ammuni- 
tion, heaps  of  things  of  that  sort.  Tim  might  scoop 
up  an  immense  fortune  and  be  made  a  baronet.  But 
instead  of  inventing — and  he  could  if  he  chose — the 
young  fool  is  flying  about  somewhere  and  dropping 
bombs  on  German  railways.  I'm  inclined  to  think  it 


GOSSAMER  293 

was  a  mistake  putting  Tim  into  the  Flying  Corps  at 
all.  I  wonder  if  we  could  get  him  out  again.  Do  you 
know  any  one  you  could  write  to  about  him?" 

"No,"  I  said,  "not  a  soul." 

"Pity,"  said  Gorman.  "A  little  personal  influence 
helps  a  lot  in  things  of  this  sort,  and  a  letter  from 
you " 

I  thought  it  time  to  change  the  subject. 

"The  Aschers  ?"  I  said.    "Ever  see  them  now  ?" 

"I  met  her  in  the  Park  on  Sunday.  She's  Red 
Crossing.  Had  on  the  most  elaborate  costume  you 
ever  saw.  Imagine  a  nurse's  uniform  brought  up  to 
the  standard  of  the  highest  art,  or  perhaps  I  ought  to 
say  an  artistic  dress  with  the  red  cross  for  motif.  She 
told  me  that  she  expects  to  go  to  the  Front  next 
week." 

"Thank  God  she  didn't  go  sooner !  She  might  have 
nursed  me  if  she'd  been  there  in  time." 

"She'd  have  done  it  all  right,"  said  Gorman.  "I 
hear  she's  a  splendid  organiser  in  spite  of  her  clothes. 
Always  was  a  remarkable  woman,  though  you  didn't 
care  for  her.  There's  been  a  lot  of  trouble  about 
Ascher." 

"Did  he  go  bankrupt?" 

"Oh,  dear  no.  Quite  the  contrary.  All  that  finan- 
cial part  of  the  business  was  well  managed  and  there 
wasn't  any  serious  smash-up.  They  say  that  Ascher 
helped  a  lot,  in  fact  that  it  was  very  largely  his  ad- 
vice which  the  Government  took.  All  the  same  a  lot 
of  people  turned  on  him  afterwards,  in  spite  of  all  I  did 
to  get  him  naturalised.  They  wanted  to  imprison  him ; 


294  GOSSAMER 

but  that  was  absurd.  It's  all  very  well  to  round  up 
ordinary  Germans,  barbers,  waiters  and  people  of  that 
sort,  and  put  them  in  concentration  camps.  But  you 
can't  imprison  a  man  who's  worth  millions.  That  sort 
of  thing  isn't  done  in  any  civilised  state." 

"Besides,"  I  said,  "Ascher  didn't  deserve  it." 

"Of  course  not.  But  that  wouldn't  have  saved  him. 
In  fact  that  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  mat- 
ter. Popular  opinion  ran  very  strongly  against  Ger- 
mans, whether  naturalised  or  not.  And  things  were 
beginning  to  look  very  nasty  for  Ascher.  However, 
we  managed  all  right." 

"How?" 

"Oh,"  said  Gorman,  "in  the  usual  way.  Diverted 
it." 

"Gorman,"  I  said,  "I'm  afraid  I'm  getting  stupid. 
Fighting  must  have  muddled  my  brain.  I  don't  quite 
follow  you.  What  did  you  divert  ?" 

"Popular  opinion,"  said  Gorman.  "We  turned  it 
away  from  Ascher,  started  everybody  hunting  a  fresh 
hare.  It  wouldn't  have  done  to  imprison  Ascher,  really 
wouldn't,  for  a  lot  of  reasons ;  so  we  all  began  making 
speeches  about  beer.  Temperance,  you  know ;  I  made 
one  myself.  Then  everybody  forgot  about  Ascher  and 
things  settled  down." 

"Politics  aren't  as  dead  as  you  said  they  were,  Gor- 
man. You  politicians " 

"It's  all  very  well  sneering  at  politicians,  and  I  don't 
mind  your  doing  it,  not  a  bit,  especially  as  you're 

wounded.  But  if  it  hadn't  been  for  us  politicians 

Tell  me  this  now,  Is  there  anybody  else  in  the  country 


GOSSAMER  295 

who  can  divert  popular  opinion  from  an  awkward  sub- 
ject?" 

I  do  not  suppose  there  is.  But  I  did  not  care  to 
argue  about  it. 

"Do  you  think,"  I  said,  "that  Ascher  ever  regretted 
his  decision?" 

"What  decision?  Oh,  to  stay  in  England?  No.  I 
don't  think  he  ever  has.  He's  done  pretty  well  for  him- 
self in  spite  of  any  little  trouble  there's  been.  I  should 
say  he's  no  worse  off  than  he  was." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  the  matter  from  a  business 
point  of  view,"  I  said. 

"From  every  other  point  of  view,"  said  Gorman,  "he 
was  wrong.  A  man  ought  not  to  go  back  on  his  coun- 
try under  any  circumstances  whatever." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  I  said. 

"His  conscience,"  said  Gorman,  "if  financiers  have 
consciences  which  I  doubt " 

"Some  day,"  I  said,  "when  I'm  a  bit  stronger,  we'll 
argue  the  whole  thing  out." 

We  have  argued  it  out,  since  then,  twenty  times  at 
least.  We  are  no  nearer  reaching  a  conclusion  than  we 
were. 


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